


The art of flying

by Amrais



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adults, Angst, Caring, Depression, Dom/sub Undertones, Eating Disorders, Fluff and Angst, Flying, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Insecurity, M/M, Non-Sexual Spanking, Non-Sexual Submission, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Hogwarts, Quidditch, Relationship(s), Self-Destruction, Self-Hatred, Sexual Content, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-02 21:27:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 32,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8683972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amrais/pseuds/Amrais
Summary: Neville is used to feel lonely and down all the time. But when his boss forces him to take flying lessons, he'll meet someone who might be able to change that.But life usually is not that easy.





	1. Mud and Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a part of the A Family Name Series! 
> 
> English is not my first language, so there might be a lot of mistakes. I appreciate every comment that helps to improve my spelling and grammar. Constructive criticism is always welcome.  
> Hope you enjoy it.

Neville gripped his broom tighter, before he apparated to the meeting point for the ‘Flying for Dummies’ group. It was a training ground that had been set up for non professional quidditch players, in the middle of nowhere, in the south of the British countryside. His boss had insisted that he took flying lessons, because: “If I have to fix one of your limbs one more time boy, I'm sure it will adhere crippled!”  
Of course Neville landed half a mile too far south from were he had meant to go and had to walk back. He didn't even think of using his broom, as he really wasn't thrilled to be on that thing, if he could do anything to avoid it.  
The coach had already started to explain the basic rules of flying to the group, when Neville finally arrived.  
“Nice of you to join us!” He bellowed harshly.  
Neville bowed his head, and joined the rank of very unhappy looking people. The coach was marching down the row, yelling instructions. It was only when he was standing right in front of him, Neville noticed that he knew the guy.  
“Longbottom?” Oliver Wood sounded just as surprised as Neville was.  
“Wood?” He asked back, sounding incredible stupid in his own ears.  
Oliver smiled, “You’ve changed.” He said and Neville tried to figure out what he meant by that, but failed.  
“Well, let's catch up later, alright?” Wood said so insistently that Neville only nodded with his mouth hanging open.  
Oliver took a step back and yelled: “Mount the brooms” so loud, that Neville flinched and needed a moment to remember that the order applied for him too.  
They spent an hour with basic exercises, while Wood was flying between them, correcting and giving tips on what to do better.  
For Neville, it went surprisingly well, aside from the fact that flying always made him nauseous. Wood even complimented him on his ability to fly the slalom without knocking over to many lances. But when there were only ten minutes left of the 90 minutes the ordeal was supposed to take,one of the morons, that were just as bad at flying as Neville was, crashed into him and knocked him off of his broom. He could only hear the guy shouting “Sorry!” after him, before he landed in the mud and a blinding pain shoot up his arm. It was broken again. The others gathered around him, until Wood had blazed a trail through to him and shooed them away.  
“Show’s over. I’ll see you all next week.” He said, before he helped Neville to get up.  
“I think my arm’s broken.” Neville complained, knowing that he sounded whiny.  
“Don't worry, this can be fixed in no time. Let's get you to St. Mungo, shall we?”  
Neville was white as a sheet. “Can't you fix it? He asked hopefully.  
“I could, but, I can't guarantee that it would heal properly. I'm not a healer.” Wood reminded him.  
Neville nodded defeated and took the arm Wood offered him, to apperate safely. 

Wood had been right; the medi-witch had fixed his arm in less than five minutes.  
“You should take a few minutes to rest, love. Just leave when you feel better. And give my regards to your grandmother.” She said cheerfully before she smiled at Neville and left the room. Now it was only the two of them. To Neville surprise, Wood had not left as soon as he got the chance, like he had expected him to.  
‘Maybe he has a bad conscience, because I got hurt’ Neville thought.  
Now Oliver was coming towards the stretcher, where he was sitting. Neville looked at him warily. What was he doing? Why was there a strange tension in the air, all of a sudden? Wood closed the space between them with one large step. He slowly lifted his arm and let his hand run gently over Neville's formerly injured arm.  
“All better now?” He asked in a low voice.  
Neville nodded, feeling a bit insecure. When Wood smiled at him, Neville couldn't help, but notice how good looking he was. His skin was tanned from being outside so much and his broad body was very athletic, with muscles just in the right places. His dark hair had gone gray at the temples, although he could not be much older than 25. Not that it looked bad, quite the contrary. Neville found it to be very attractive, nearly as attractive as his warm, brown eyes, that were surrounded by smile wrinkles. His lips looked full and soft in his otherwise angular face.  
“Really?” Oliver asked in a suggestive tone, “or do you need me to kiss it better?”  
“What?”Neville blinked, not sure if he had heard right.  
“Kiss you, Longbottom.” Wood answered casually.  
“Kiss me?” Neville echoed confused.  
But Oliver cupped his large hands around Neville’s face and pulled him closer. He pressed his warm, dry lips against his mouth and licked over Neville’s lips, requesting him to open his mouth. When he did, the other man let his tongue playfully flick against his tongue, until Neville kissed him back. He almost fell head first from the stretcher when Oliver ended the kiss and took a step back.  
“Careful there.” Wood laughed and put a hand on Neville’s chest to stabilize him. Neville blushed, he leaned back and touched his lips in disbelief that he just had been kissed. His face prickled from the lack of oxygen.  
“I never knew you were…” he trailed of.  
“Gay?” Oliver finished the sentence for him and Neville nodded, suddenly feeling very embarrassed.  
“Well, I haven't exactly told people. It still is a taboo in the professional sports.” Oliver explained calmly.  
Neville nodded understanding. “How did you know that I am,… well, you know.”  
“That you are gay?” Oliver again finished the sentence for Neville, while he looked him up and down and smiled.  
“Vibes, Longbottom, vibes.”  
“Oh.” Neville said dumbfounded. “And why did you kiss me?”  
“You looked like you needed it.” Oliver shrugged his shoulders, “and you are very cute. So it wasn't a great sacrifice to do that.” He said grinning.  
Neville blushed again.  
“You are so shy. I like that.” Oliver cooed teasingly, while Neville tried to clear his throat, but it sounded as if he was choking on air.  
“What about a Date?” Oliver asked, sounding like he meant it.  
And Neville was so stunned about so much confidence, that he only nodded.  
“Great,” Wood sounded excited, “Friday 8 pm, my place?” He suggested.  
Neville didn't really needed to think if he had the time. At the weekend he always had time. But he thought about it for a moment, just for good measure.  
“Sure, sounds good” he finally agreed.  
“I’ll send you an owl with my address,” Oliver said, before he pulled Neville close again for another kiss. Neville gasped for air when it ended.  
“But you don't have my address.” He wondered.  
“Yes, I do.” Oliver said triumphant and waved the attendance list in front of his face.  
“I have to go now, do you want me to accompany you to the floo?”  
“No, it's alright, I’ve been here so many times in my life, I know where to go.” Neville said quietly and Oliver smiled encouraging, thinking that Neville referred to his well known clumsiness.  
“I’ll see you Friday. Try to stay alive till then. Take care!” With an last wave, he left the room, leaving an absolutely astonished Neville behind, who wondered if this really just happened. 

Back at home he decided against anything to eat. His stomach still was upset. He didn't know if it was because of flying or the shock of breaking his arm or, and that might be the most likely explanation, because of this very unsettling encounter with Oliver Wood. He couldn't make his mind up, if it made him happy or if it just terrified him to no end. He was standing by the window in his small,one-room flat, trying to warm his hands on a hot cup of tea, staring at the unappealing sight of the neighbor house’s dirty red brick walls. ‘Maybe,’ he thought, ‘Maybe I should give this thing, whatever it might be, a chance.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you are thinking about this fanfic. I'll try to find songs that are fitting the mood of each chapter. I started with that in a later chapter, so not all chapters have a song yet. The one for this chapter would be Wondering by Dirty Pretty Things.


	2. Dinner invitation

As the week was proceeding, Neville grew more nervous by the day. Friday he was so on edge, that he cut himself while cutting the Daisyroots and was bitten by a Fanged Geranium. He didn’t tell his boss, Mr. Alfons, because sometimes the man got angry about Neville’s clumsiness. So, he only gritted his teeth and tried to concentrate on his work.  
At home he cleaned out the cut and the little bite marks, but otherwise left it unattended; it would heal by itself. More important was the question, what he would wear. After his shower he had avoided to stare in the mirror too long, otherwise he knew he would feel even more self conscious than he felt anyway. And now, more or less his whole attire laid outspread on his bed. After he finally decided on black slacks and a woollen pullover, also in black, he looked through his robes.  
He decided on his robe with the embroidered lion on the back. His grandmother had given it to him, as a graduation gift. It was a bit to wide around the shoulders nowadays, but not to prominent.  
He ruffled through his short hair, wishing it would be longer, he knew he looked better with longer hair, but wore it short for practical reasons. He shoved his wand into his left sleeve and looked around. "Bye" he said to his plants, in the last two years, he had formed the habit of talking to them. Then he grabbed the bottle of elderflower wine and stepped into the floo, saying Olivers Address as clearly as he could; his voice was a bit shaky from nervousness. When he stepped out of the floo into the spacious lobby of one of the grand, modern buildings that had been erected just at the other end of Diagon Alley, he looked around in awe. Everything looked expensive, with dark marble floors and golden emblems everywhere. The Elevator was operated by a goblin in a velvet suit, who looked at him suspiciously, when he smiled shyly at him.  
“Oliver Woods apartment, please” Neville said politely and the goblin nodded without saying a word. The elevator shoot up with a pace that made his stomach turn, but before he could really get sick the goblin announced: “56 floor, Sir. Good evening” and stepped aside to let Neville pass.  
“Thank you” he replied, but the door was already closed. He looked down the long, dimly lit hallway and squinted a little, so he could make out the golden numbers on the doors. Finally he spotted the 565, at the fifth door to his left side. He took several deep breaths before he finally brought up his hand and knocked.  
Oliver smiled brightly when he opened the door.  
“Very punctual.” He complimented him, “Well, come in!” He urged.  
Neville stepped over the doorsill and entered the generous flat. The floor was made out of dark wood, it had high ceilings and the walls were a plain white, Neville could see that the living room wall was completely glazed and provided a spectacular view over the city.  
“Wow, this is a great flat.” Neville stated impressed.  
Oliver grinned, “Isn't it? I love the view.”  
Neville felt awkwardly out of place and was desperately thinking about something to say. But he came up with nothing. Embarrassed he held out the bottle of wine for Oliver to take.  
Oliver took the bottle and thanked him, pretending not to notice how nervous his guest was.  
“Come on, I hope you are hungry?” He led the way to the kitchen. It was an open plan kitchen, with spacious working space, facing the living room area.  
“You cook?” Neville was surprised.  
“Sure. You don't?” Wood said casually. Neville shook his head.  
“No, cooking is like mixing potions. And that's one of the things I'm really bad at.”  
“As bad as flying?” Oliver joked.  
“Even worse.” Neville confessed, while sidestepping the dishes Oliver had sent to the long table by the window front.  
Oliver just raised his eyebrows.  
“What do you want to drink? Beer or wine?” He asked.  
“I’d prefer wine.” Neville answered shyly.  
“Wine it is.” Oliver said and passed Neville the filled glass, while he carried the pot over to the table.  
“Are you coming?” He asked amused, startling Neville out of staring after him.  
Neville blushed, but slowly walked over to the table, were Wood already was sitting.  
“It's lamb stew, I hope you like that?” He asked, waiting for Neville to nod, before filling his plate.  
“What are you waiting for? Sit down. The chair won't bite you and me neither.” Oliver smiled encouraging, while Neville turned his glass in his hands, before he finally sat down next to Oliver.  
“So what have you done since graduating?” He wanted to know.  
Neville was relived, talking about his work was easy for him.  
“Well, I work in one of these large greenhouses in the countryside. We breed plants for potions and apothecaries. That's why my boss forced me to take flying lessons, by the way. Last time we were out to collect plants, I fell and broke my leg. So that's why he told me to take flying lessons, otherwise he won't take me with him again.” He told Oliver, “ I'm glad that you are my teacher.” He blushed.  
Oliver laughed at that, “I promise you, by the end of that course you’ll not longer fall of your broom.” He said firmly.  
“I wonder thought, why are you giving this course?” Neville dared to ask.  
Oliver sighed heavily. “I’m not longer reserved player for the Puddelmeres, as you may know, I'm the official keeper now, but in the last game I got injured, and when they asked our captain if anyone could coach the “Flying for dummies” group she came up with my name. And so I am stuck with this task, at least these eight weeks.” He explained.  
“I'm sorry.” Neville said compassionate.  
“Nah, it’s alright. After all, I met you again.” He gifted Neville with a smile, who promptly choked on his stew.  
Oliver tapped his back until Neville stopped coughing.  
“More wine?” He asked sweetly and Neville held out his glass to be refilled.  
The rest of the meal they spent chatting casually about this and that. Neville felt more comfortable with Wood, than he had felt with anyone in a very long time. Maybe because he knew him in happier days, although school had never been the greatest experience for him, or because they had fought side by side at the Hogwarts battle? Neville didn’t knew why, but he could feel himself opening up, talking and laughing with ease. They had moved to the couch, still facing the gorgeous view. For once he felt not uncomfortable that high up.  
Neville could feel how his face was warm and glowed from the wine and all the talking and laughing. He felt giddy like a schoolboy, whenever he felt Wood was looking at him.  
Suddenly Oliver leaned closer and took the wineglass from Neville's hands, placing it on the coffee table in front of them. Neville blinked when Oliver gently put a hand around his neck and pulled him into a kiss. Neville leaned his head back, to give him a better access, but the ankle was still uncomfortable and Oliver tugged at his robe to intimate him to come closer. So Neville scooted over and after he shortly thought about it, he straddled him.  
Oliver hummed in agreement and run his hands up and down Neville's back.  
He carefully put his hands under his shirt and Neville shivered in anticipation. Oliver let his hands rest at either side of his rib cage. He drew his head back, so he would be able to see Neville's eyes.  
“I won't do anything you don't want me to do. Is this happening to fast?” He asked.  
But Neville shook his head,” No, it's just…” he trailed off , embarrassed to say it out loud. “ it's just, that it has been a while since I last… ahm… did something like this.”  
“Don't worry, I’ll be gentle.” Oliver smirked at the way Neville blushed.  
“Merlin, you are so cute.” He laughed. Neville's cheeks reddened even more.  
“Shut up.” He said before he leaned close again and nibbled on his neck. He could feel Oliver’s erection pressing against his buttocks and he involuntarily moaned when Wood let his hands slide down and grabbed his butt.  
“Should we take this into my bedroom?” Oliver asked hopefully and Neville just nodded, before he could wonder about himself. Wood pushed himself up, still holding Neville pressed to his chest.  
“Let me go!” Neville giggled, “I’m too heavy to be carried around.”  
“No, you’re not.” Wood shook his head, but he let him down anyway.  
“But this way, I’ll be able to undress you.” Olivers voice sounded a bit raspy and Neville shivered again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the first time I'm writing something like this. I hope it's not too stiff. There's more to come, I just need a bit time. Please let me know if you like it so far.  
> Thank you for reading.


	3. Stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First time trying to write smut. This would've been hard in my mother tounge and now in English... I don't know. Let me know if it is horrible, then I'll keep away from it in the future.

Neville stepped away from his robe, that pooled around his feet, tugging impatiently at Olivers shirt. Oliver laughed and pulled it over his head by himself. Reverential Neville run his hands over the Quidditch players naked chest.  
Oliver took Neville's hands and pulled him closer again.  
“Let's get you out of yours too.” He said with a smile and Neville lifted his arms like a child, waiting to get undressed. Oliver slowly pulled Neville's pullover over his head. When the sudden cold hit Neville's skin, he crossed his arms over his chest, embarrassed about the paleness of his skin and the lack of muscles.  
“Let me see you, baby,” Oliver said softly prying his arms away. “You are so beautiful, just so slender and fair.”  
Neville was shocked, he never had been called slender or fair, all he had been called was a clumsy klutz.  
He didn't know how to react on that and got a bit limp under Oliver’s exploring hands.  
Wood softly pushed against him, to make him move backwards, into the next room, what, Neville assumed, happened to be the bedroom. There, Oliver sat down on the edge of the large bed and positioned Neville to stand between his legs. When he reached for Neville's belt to open it, he glanced at him like he was asking for permission.  
“Yes, do it!” Neville said impatiently, holding the "fucking" back at his tongue. He wasn't one for swearing. Oliver opened the belt and Neville's pants fell down immediately, without having to be pushed down. Oliver squeezed his ass and Neville took in a shouldering breath, when Wood tugged at his boxers too and freed his twitching cock. Oliver smiled up to Neville, while his fingers were digging into the soft flesh of Neville's behind, pulling him closer. Oliver's breath was hot, when he hovered teasingly over Neville's tip. Neville did nothing but waited for Oliver to finally touch him, even though he was close to begging. But he stood still, breathing heavily through his mouth. Oliver's tongue darted out, licking his lips, before he lowered himself further, closing his mouth over Neville's now leaking cock. It felt wet and hot and when Oliver stroked Neville's balls before he squeezed them slightly, he groaned and closed his eyes, letting his hands fall down heavily on Oliver's shoulders. He slid up and down his shaft several times, before he released Neville again.  
“I don't want you to come just yet.” He said a bit breathless and Neville nodded, feeling dazed.  
“Lie on the bed, on your stomach.” Oliver ordered and Neville complied without hesitating. He heard the ruffling of clothes behind him and knew that Oliver got rid of his pants as well. The mattress dipped behind him and he tried to turn his head, to be able to look at his new lover. But Oliver held his head down.  
“Don't look, just feel.” Oliver ordered him. “Can you keep your eyes closed or do I have to blindfold you?” He asked him in a low voice.  
This suggestion and Oliver's tone made Neville's cock ache. He never knew that he had a thing for submission. But now was not the right moment to think about that; he shuddered.  
“I’ll keep them closed.” He promised eagerly.  
“Good!” Oliver said and he could hear the smile in his voice.  
Oliver was positioned behind him.  
“Spread your legs a little.” He told him and Neville did so immediately. Oliver ran his callused hands all over Neville's body and Neville could feel his sensitive skin heat up. Now, all rational thinking was gone, he only was feeling. He no longer worried about his body, he stopped thinking about being embarrassingly flabby around the middle and that he needed to suck in his stomach, he even forgot that his ex boyfriend had called him boring in bed, he just reacted to Oliver's warm hands and his low voice, whispering orders and praises. He could feel his cheeks being parted and Oliver rubbed his length between them. He moaned, expecting Oliver to push in, but he didn't.  
“Not yet, Darling. Get on your hands and knees.”  
Neville did and Oliver closed one hand around his cock from behind, while with the other hand he caressed his balls. He started pumping up and down and Neville was breathing heavily.  
“I'm not going to last long, if you going on like that.” He warned him, breathless.  
“That's ok. Then you’ll have to finish me off, and I’ll come all over you.” Oliver said, leaning over and placing kisses and little bites on his lower back. Neville panted, finding the image Wood just had put in his head extremely thrilling.  
Oliver let go of his member, stilling his thrusting hips effectively. He used both hands to pull on his ass cheeks and Neville jerked away when he felt Oliver's tongue liking over his hole.  
“What's the matter baby? Don't you like that?” He asked, concerned that he had done something that Neville found uncomfortable.  
Neville shook his head. “No, I just was surprised. You don't have to do that, you know.” He said, feeling insecure about his prudish behavior.  
“Don't worry, I wouldn't anything I actually don't want to do. Oliver said softly, pulling at Neville hips, drawing him closer again. He licked again, circling his tongue around the pink, swollen ring of muscles and Neville allowed himself to relish this pleasure. Then Oliver wrapped his hand around his cock again, while slowly pushing a finger into Neville's entrance. Oliver was gently moving his finger in and out, while pumping rhythmically.  
“I'm close.” Neville breathed and Oliver picked up his pace. Seconds later Neville came into his hand.  
Oliver wiped his hands on a towel he had accioed and lay down next to Neville, who was still panting. He let him rest for several minutes and than started to kiss his face and neck again. Neville rolled over and started to kiss him back. He trailed kisses down his neck, chest and stomach, before sliding between Oliver's thighs. He carefully bit into them, just inches away from his groin. He could hear Oliver gasping. Then he licked over Oliver's balls teasingly, earning a soft moan. He smiled and sucked one of his balls into his mouth, circling it with his tongue, listening to the moans and gasping noises he could hear, then he reached up and pumped Oliver's cock, already slick with precum. He let go of the left testicle in favor of the right on. Oliver bucked underneath him and tried to grip his hair, but it was to short and his hands found no hold, so he grabbed the sheets instead. Neville could feel his hands open and close in the rhythm of his arousal. Neville finally let go and closed his mouth over his dick and sucked at it, hard. He knew that every gentleness would be wasted. Suddenly Wood bolted upright and grabbed his chin, pulling him away.  
“What?” Neville asked confused.  
“I’m going to come, and I want to come all over you.” Oliver said, his voice a choked whisper. “Lie down.” He ordered. He kneeled between Neville's legs, working his cock. Neville popped up on his elbows and watched him. With his free hand Oliver held two fingers to Neville's lips, who sucked them eagerly into his mouth. Oliver worked himself faster and when he came, he drew his face back with the most erotic expression of pleasure Neville ever had seen. To see this man, closing his eyes just enough to still look at him through his lashes, his face flushed and with an expression of pure bliss, looking at him like he was the most beautiful being in the world, was overwhelming. The hot cum was splattered all over Neville's chest and went cold quickly. Oliver reached behind him and gave the towel he had used earlier to Neville. Neville wiped his chest with it. Oliver lay down beside him, exhausted, blinking tiredly, sharing a silent smile, before he closed his eyes.

Oliver opened his eyes again when he felt Neville moving around, in the nearly dark room.  
“What are you doing?” He asked, sitting up.  
“I'm getting dressed.” Neville answered simply, stating the obvious.  
“Why?”  
“Well, I can't floo home naked, can I?” Neville asked back.  
“You don't have to leave. You can stay here, if you want to.” Neville was surprised how casually Wood made this suggestion sound.  
“All I have to do tomorrow, is to teach a bunch of Idiots how to fly.” He said playfully.  
“Hey, did you just called me an idiot?” Neville said with a pretended pout. Oliver just grinned.  
“We can use the Portkey at QQS.”  
“QQS?”  
Oliver rolled his eyes “Quality Quidditch Suplies.” He said.  
“Oh..yeah.” Neville said stupidly.  
“I even have a spared toothbrush somewhere.” Oliver said, getting out of bed too.  
“Alright I’ll stay.” Neville was defeated.  
“Great.” Oliver smiled widely.

When Neville woke up, the place next to him was empty. Instead, a deep red dressing gown was lying there and he assumed it was meant for him. He put it on and walked into the bright, large living room area. He could hear the shower running. He felt nervousness creeping into him. How would it be now, the morning after? He busied himself with looking out of the window. He startled, when Oliver wrapped an arm around his waist, how could such a big guy move so silently? Neville asked himself. Wood pressed his still damp, cold body against him.  
“Good morning. I kind of hoped you would have been awake earlier, so we could have shared the shower. But you looked so peaceful, I didn't want to wake you.”  
Neville turned around and was graced with an awkward good morning kiss, that landed somehow askew on his lips, because he wasn't expecting it and moved his head.  
He smiled at Oliver, who looked like a young Greek good, his muscular body lightened by the sharp morning light, just with a towel around his waist.  
“You should have woken me up. I would have loved to shower with you.” He said softly.  
“Shame we don't have the time now.” Oliver said a bit regretful . “You can use the shower, I left out some towels for you. I'm going to make breakfast. Do you want something special?” He asked expectantly.  
But Neville shook his head. "For me only tea with a bit of milk, if you have any.” He decided.  
The other man looked at him skeptically. “Are you sure? You should eat something, or the wind will knock you off your broom.” He said.  
“If I eat something, I’ll throw up all over the place. And I bet you don't want that to happen, do you?” Neville explained.  
Oliver looked as if he just had solved a complicated Puzzle. “So you are afraid of heights?” He asked.  
“Not particularly afraid, no, but I always get sick on a broom.” Neville confessed.  
“We’ll work on that!” Oliver said with confidence. “You’ll see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I would love to hear your opinion.


	4. The void

That day, Wood mainly did balance exercises on the ground and Neville suspected that he was doing it for him. When the workshop was over, Oliver asked him to stay back.  
“I don't know about you, but I enjoyed your company. Maybe we could meet again.” He sounded slightly nervous and Neville wondered why. How could anyone say no to someone so gorgeous as Oliver Wood?  
“Sure, I’d love to.” Neville said, not really convinced that Oliver actually wanted to meet him again. Maybe he was saying it, so this whole thing wouldn't feel like a one-nighter. But Oliver surprised him.  
“What about Wednesday? I’m free on Wednesday. How about we meet in a pub?”  
Neville just nodded. Olive quickly looked around before he kissed Neville so deeply again, that his knees were feeling wobbly. 

Since then, three months had passed and now they were practically living together. Of course at Oliver's place. The one and only time Neville had brought Oliver to his flat, the later had raised his eyebrows.  
“You do actually live here? This is a shit hole.” He had said but when he saw Neville's face, he backpedaled.  
“I mean, you have done it up nicely, but you can hardly call this a flat.”  
Neville shrugged his shoulders.  
“It's cheap.”  
“Why don't you move in with me?” Oliver asked. “The flat is big enough for both of us.”  
But Neville shook his head. “It's too soon Olli, let's wait a bit.”  
Oliver resigned to point out, that Neville nearly lived with him anyways. 

“Are you sleeping here tonight?” Oliver asked while making himself breakfast. Neville was hectically trying to summon his workgloves. Finally, after the fifth try, they freed themselves from under Oliver's quidditch robe and nearly slapped him in the face.  
“We really need to tidy up here. I never find my stuff.” He complained.  
“I need to stop by my flat after work. The plants need water. But I can be here around seven. When do you finish tonight?”  
“Around seven too. I’ll bring something to eat.” He grabbed Neville around the waist and kissed his neck.  
“Sounds good. But you need to let go of me. I'm already late.”  
“Did you eat something?” Oliver asked, releasing him.  
Neville shook his head. “ No time.” He said shortly.  
“Take my toast.” Oliver held out his buttered bread and Neville took it with a huff.  
“You need to eat something, Nev.” Oliver called after him, but Nevill was already gone.  
When he arrived in front of the greenhouse, were he was supposed to work the next few weeks, his boss's owl sat on a log by the door. Neville feeded her half of his toast and stroked her soft feathers, before he went in.  
The morning passed by relatively unspectacular, only he felt a little tired. Live between two places was getting to him, maybe he really should consider moving in with Oliver. But just when his co workers were coming back from their lunch break; Neville had worked through so he could leave earlier in the evening-he felt a bit lightheaded. He stumbled against the table he was working at and in his attempt to keep his footing he grabbed the plant he was working with. Unfortunately, it was a devil’s snare he was supposed to repot. The vicious plant immediately wrapped its tentacles around his wrist, trying to pull him closer, so it could strangle him. In his panic he couldn't think straight and yanked his arm away, but the plant only grew stronger. Thankfully, one of his colleagues had kept cool and repressed the plant with bluebell flames. Instantly Neville's wrist was released and the plant just looked as peaceful as before. Neville was hyperventilating, trying to get some air in his lungs, while all attempts of his colleagues to calm him down were in vain. Someone called for help.  
Mr. Alfons was coming towards him and Neville, who just  
was able to breath again, felt like he might pass out. The look on his boss's face meant trouble.  
“You!” He said, his long finger, caked with dirt, pointing directly at Neville, “out!”  
Neville hurried to get out of the greenhouse, trying hard to hold his emotions at bay.  
Then he was outside, breathing in the cold air. Drizzling rain was gently coating the grass and leafs around him, spraying his face with refreshing mist.  
“Boy, what's wrong with you?” Mr. Alfons said sadly. “You are one of my most talented students and then you go and do something stupid like that.” He shook his head.  
Neville hung his head, studying his shoes. “I’m sorry Sir. I don't know what happened, suddenly I felt so dizzy.” He explained.  
“Dizzy, huh?” The old man looked him up and down. “You don't look too good. I tell you what. Why don’t you go home? Make yourself a nice cup of tea and get a good nights sleep.” He told him softly.  
Neville shook his head. “But Sir, I’m alright now. I will be more careful, I promise.” He pleaded.  
“But me no buts! You are going home.” His boss said strictly and Neville failed to notice the worry in his eyes.

In his apartment he walked up and down, like a caged animal. How could he be so stupid, this was a beginner’s mistake- no wonder his boss had send him home. He was just utterly useless. He made himself a cup of tea, like his boss had told him and settled in his only chair. But the tea did nothing to calm his nerves. Sighing, he stood up again and fetched a bottle of fire whisky and a glass. Maybe this would calm him down. He would only drink one, and then he would care for his plants, before he would floo home and spend a nice evening with his boyfriend.  
He should have known better. By the fourth time he refilled the glass, he found that he didn't care anymore. In fact he couldn't care less what anyone, his boss, his grandmother or Oliver, anyone else really- were expecting of him. He couldn't live up to their expectations, never could, so why try? He watched the clock passing seven, passing eight. Was Oliver waiting for him? Probably not. Why would he? Why would someone so gorgeous like Oliver wait for someone like him? The fat looser, nobody wanted to be friends with.  
When he refilled his glass again, savouring the sharp liquid, burning in his mouth and throat pleasantly, he suddenly had to laugh, bitter and short at nothing in particular. A knock on the door startled him. Then he could hear Oliver's voice.  
“Neville? Neville are you in there?” He called.  
Nevill did not so much as turning his head around.  
“Neville please, answer me. Are you hurt? Do I have to break the door down?” Neville was surprised by the desperation he could hear in Oliver's voice. Slowly he stood up and staggered to the door.  
Oliver looked pale, his eyes dark.  
“Nev! There you are. What happened?”  
Neville only stared at him, squinting because he saw everything double.  
“Are you drunk?” Oliver asked, watching him sway.  
“Yeah.” Neville answered casually. “Want to come in?” He invited his boyfriend.  
Oliver starred at him in disbelief, before he finally walked past him into the flat.  
“What is going on here?”  
“I’m getting drunk.”  
“ I can see that. But why?” Oliver asked in a dangerous low voice.  
Neville shrugged his shoulders and grinned, he was in the mood to provoke.  
“I just felt like it.”  
“Oh, that's great. I'm at home, worried because you don't show up and you are sitting here, getting drunk.” Oliver now was yelling.  
“I thought something happened.”  
“Yeah, well I'm alright.” Neville said defiantly.  
“So now what? You want me to leave so you can get pissed in peace?” Oliver asked angrily.  
“I don't mind if you stay.” Neville said.  
“Do you want a drink too?” He slurred only slightly.  
“No! All I want to know is why are you doing this? You stood me up in favor of getting drunk, alone in your apartment, on a weekday?”  
“I told you, I just felt like it.” Neville was getting irritated.  
“My boss send me home earlier, so I just got bored.” He elaborated.  
“Why did he send you home earlier?” Oliver asked, getting the feeling this was finally a hint, why his boyfriend behaved like that.  
Neville sighed, “Because I’m stupid and useless. I put my hand right into a devil’s snare.” Something was telling him not to mention the dizzy spell to Oliver.  
Oliver's eyes grew wide. “Are you hurt?”  
“Not really, just a bit bruised.” Neville showed him his bruised wrist. And Oliver took it gently into his hands.  
“Oh Baby.” He said, stroking it.  
Neville looked away, he couldn't stand so much gentleness when he felt like shit.  
“I just was worried about you.”  
“I know, I'm sorry.” Neville said guiltily.  
“What are we going to do now? Oliver asked. “Do you want to stay here, or go back to my flat? Did you eat anything at all?”  
The way Oliver was fussing over him was getting exasperating.  
“No, and I don't want to. I'm feeling sick anyway, think I'm going to throw up.”  
Oliver rolled his eyes. “Great!”  
“You are free to leave.” Neville's tone was venomously. He got up and slowly walked into his tiny bathroom, closing the door behind him.  
Oliver cringed when he heard Neville gagging and coughing. He got up too and took the glass and the bottle, to place them in the small kitchenette. He raised the glass out in the sink and put the bottle were the others were standing. Then it struck him. Irritated he looked at the bottles, piling next to the sink. Several empty wine and whiskey bottles were glittering in the light, like trophies. Last time he had been here, he hadn't noticed them. No, he was pretty sure they hadn't been there. He never had noticed, that Neville drank too much or to often, so when and how had he collected so many empty bottles? It must mean, that Neville spend the few nights he wasn't staying over, with some heavy drinking. Was this the reason why Neville refused to give up this flat? So he could hide things from him? Neville came back in the room, already in his Pyjama, looking quite pale and shaky.  
“ I need to go to bed.” He announced, before he crawled under the covers.  
“Are you staying with me?” He sounded pleading.  
“Sure.” He walked over to the bed and undressed, until he only was in his boxers, then he slid into the place next to Neville. With his wand he extinguished the light. He wrapped his arms around his boyfriends waist and he could feel how exhausted he was.  
“Nev?” He whispered into his nape.  
“Hmm?” Neville hummed.  
“Are you doing this often? Getting drunk I mean.” He asked carefully.  
Neville signed softly. “Sometimes.” He confessed.  
“Why?”  
“It takes the edge off.”  
“The edge of what?” Oliver didn’t know what to do with this answer.  
“The edge of the void.” Neville said simply, as if it was the clearest explanation.  
“Can we talk about this tomorrow? I really need to sleep right now.”  
“Okay but we are going to talk about this tomorrow, alright?” Oliver instead.  
“Yes, we’ll talk about it. I promise.” Neville said tiredly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constructive criticism is very much appreciated. Please take your time to leave a comment. Thank you for reading, I hope you are enjoying it so far.


	5. Telling Secrets

They lay in bed together, on their backs, side by side. Oliver held his hand up, like he was trying to touch the minuscule dust particles floating in the air, made visible by the sunlight.  
“Nev, you still owe me an explanation.” He said softly, desperate not to taint the mellow mood.  
“You can't just let it go, can you?” Neville answered, sounding resigned.  
Now Oliver put his hand down and rolled on his side, so he could look at his boyfriend.  
“No I can't. Because I'm worried about you. You scared me, you know?”  
“I know, you told me that for the last week, three times a day.”  
Neville too, rolled over, facing Oliver. They were so close that he could feel his warm breath on his face.  
“You said we would talk about it.” Oliver reminded him.  
“I know I did, it's just… I don't want to tell you.”  
With his finger, Oliver was drawing patterns on Neville's shoulder, so light he was barely touching him.  
“Why not?”  
“It's hard to tell you about my feelings, when people usually don't want me to talk about myself.”  
“I want you to talk about yourself.” Oliver smiled and the smile wrinkles that appeared around his eyes reminded Neville of Oliver's warmth and humour. He had so much to give and on the contrary to Neville he wasn't afraid of rejection, so he gave care and love easily.  
Neville took a deep breath, before he began to talk: "Sometimes I feel like there is a hole in my chest, something deep and dark that aches. I always thought it was because I was lonely, but I don't know anymore. Sometimes I even feel it when I'm with you, when I'm close to you. It's when I know I should be happy, but in this short moment I am not. And I feel like I don't deserve to be with you, because I’m just a horrible person, who doesn't deserve good things, because I can't appreciate them.” Neville helplessly tried to explain himself to Oliver.  
While Neville was speaking, Oliver did not interrupt him, he only kept his warm brown eyes on him, his gaze never leaving Neville's face.  
He saw that his blue eyes were strangely light and glassy. His Boyfriend seemed to be miles away.  
Oliver let go of Neville's hand he had been holding, while Neville talked, and carefully placed it on his cheek.  
“Listen, you are not a horrible person. And you deserve to be happy.” The live came back to Neville's eyes, looking at him intensely.  
“How long have you been feeling like this?”  
Neville looked away again. “As long as I can remember, really. I never felt like I was good enough for anyone.” He sounded aloof, as if he wasn't talking about himself or the feelings that were tearing him apart.  
“Is that the reason why you hurt yourself?” Oliver asked sympathetic.  
Neville eyes snapped back to his boyfriends face.  
“How do you know?” He was alarmed.  
“The scars on your left ankle.” Oliver said simply. “I know every inch of your body by now.”  
“Why haven't you said anything?”  
“I figured you would tell me if it was important. But by now I know that you won't tell me, if I'm not asking.”  
“They're old.” Neville said.  
“I know baby.” Oliver said dismissively.  
“It's alright, I don't care.” He realized that this statement sounded  wrong. “Well, I do care, but I won't make a big deal out of something that is a thing of the past. I just want you to know, that I want you to talk to me. I’ll always listen to you.” He promised.  
“Okay.” Was all Neville said. Oliver kissed his nose and Neville giggled, relived that the talking was over. Neville pressed a quick kiss to Oliver's lips, who kissed him back. The kisses got deeper and longer and Oliver rolled over, so he was on top of Neville.  
Neville moaned, he loved it, when Oliver’s weight was holding him down, making him feel small but safe at the same time, underneath him. He run his hands along Oliver's back muscles, and when he reached his ass, he pushed him down, while thrusting his hips up, increasing the friction. Oliver pulled Neville's pajama pants down, he only was wearing boxers. Neville hastily got rid of his T-Shirt too. When Oliver pushed into him, Neville wrapped his legs around his waist, pulling him as close as he could.  
Sex with Oliver always made him forget all his insecurities. Only when he could see the lust in his lovers eyes, he felt like he was enough.  
Afterwards he fell asleep again, spooned by Oliver, their skin still hot and sticky.  
Oliver woke him up, half an hour later.  
“What is your opinion on a shared shower?” He asked suggestive.  
“Good. Saves water.” Neville murmured, eyes still closed. “I'm hungry.” He complained.  
Oliver kissed his neck. “You are hungry for a change? I can make pancakes, if you like.”  
Neville nodded against his chest.  
“We should have Sex every morning, if it actually makes you hungry.” Oliver said teasingly.  
“That would be the only reason?” Neville asked, playing offended.  
“No, but it would be a bonus.”

Oliver placed a cup of tea in front of Neville, just perfect, with a bit of milk and sugar. It were these small things that made him want to spent the rest of his live with this man. He loved the way Oliver cared about him, without voicing it. On his way home, he often picked up Neville’s favourite Magazines, without being asked. Or every time Neville came home after visiting his parents, he had cooked his favourite meal and was distracting him with funny stories about Quidditch training.  
And he needed the way Oliver was telling him what to do, when Neville seemed to lose his grip on the world, the days he wouldn’t know what to do with himself, the days he would have spent in bed, feeling sorry for himself, if Oliver hadn't told him to get up and dictate every move, until he fell into the familiar routine of showering and getting dressed. Neville suspected that for many people the dynamics of their relationship would seem strange. Even themselves had needed time to accept the way, they slowly were falling into a pattern of dominance and submission. Oliver didn’t always tell him what to do, and Neville not always did what he was told. Only when Oliver felt like he was talking into an empty space, when he actually was trying to talk to Neville, then his tone got sharp and demanding, without tolerance for objections. For Neville it was the only thing that could reach him, Oliver’s voice, telling him to get up, to shower, to dress himself, to eat. Without Oliver being there, demanding to be heard, to be seen and to be followed, he wouldn’t be able to leave the house for a week, maybe longer. Telling his boss, he was sick, while he lay in bed, starring at the celling.

“Why are you doing this for me?” he asked, starring at his cup of tea, while Oliver was using a spell that made the pancakes flip themselves high up in the air.  
“Doing what, Nev?” he asked back, while he kept his gaze on the pancakes.  
“Care for me the way you do, isn’t it exhausting?”  
Oliver turned around, Neville’s eyes were bright and his gaze disturbingly intend. He leaned on the counter casually.  
“Because you need me to care about you, and I need you to let me care about you. I think our needs and personalities are a perfect match... I told you before and I tell you again, I was lonely too, before I met you again.” He smiled softly. “I know you are still struggling with it, but you are not depended on me, when you allow yourself to relay on me.”  
Neville looked on the floor, ashamed that he was so obvious, but he nodded.  
“Don’t worry Nev, you are not too much, I just need you as much as you need me. And now move, breakfast is ready.” 

 

“Look, I got free tickets for the Quidditch game next weekend. I know that you are not a huge fan, but I thought you could invite someone to accompany you.” He placed the tickets on the table.  
“And who should I invite?” Neville said sceptically.  
“I don't know, whoever you like. Someone from work maybe.”  
“I don't know them to well.” Neville shrugged his shoulders.  
Oliver could feel himself growing impatient, but he contained himself, holding his voice even and calm.  
“What about Harry? You still write him now and then, don't you?”  
“Sometimes.”  
“Well, why don't you ask him. He's still with the Weasley sister, isn't he? She's a pretty good Quidditch player herself.”  
“I don't know.” Neville said uncertain. “They are usually very busy.”  
“You’ll never know if you don't try.” Oliver smiled softly.  
“I don't want to push you baby, but I’d really like you to be there and I think you would have more fun, if you'd go with someone.”  
Neville nodded, he apprehended that he had to do this for Oliver, he couldn't just always take, he had to give something as well, and if it just was his presence and his will to make an effort. “I’m going to asked them." He promised, "Thanks’ Olli.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today I came across Elliott Smiths Between the Bars again and it actually fit my mood writing this fic pretty well. It's such a beautiful song. 
> 
> I would love to hear what you think about this fic.  
> Thank you for reading.


	6. Saturday

When the next Saturday came around, it was Oliver for a change, who needed to be coaxed into eating. He always was a nervous wreck before a match.  
“Nev, have you seen my lucky socks? You know, the ones with the brooms.”  
Neville rolled his eyes, “ they are on the couch, together with all the other stuff you’ll need. I put them there last night.”  
Oliver remembered “yeah, right. I forgot.”  
“Better you check again, if you have everything, you know how forgetful I am.”  
“No, it's alright, I have everything” Oliver looked awfully pale, but his cheeks were burning in a nervous red.  
Neville wrapped his arms around him. “You are going to be great.” He said without a doubt, kissing him. “Good luck.”  
“Thanks, see you afterwards.”  
“Good luck!” He called after him.  
The door slammed and Neville finished the rest of his breakfast calmly, he had an hour, before he would meet Harry and Ginny.  
They had accepted his invitation with much more enthusiasm than he had thought they would.  
‘Of course we are coming! What a nice opportunity to catch up.’ Ginny had written and he could feel, that she meant it genuinely. 

He met them in front of the Stadium, he was late, as usual. He could see them, standing together, Ginny's back was turned to him, but she still was easily to recognize, with her long red hair, sparkling in the sun. Harry suddenly waved and Ginny turned around and quickly walked towards him, Harry following her.  
“Neville” she exclaimed, her face lit up with the excitement to see him. Neville felt incredibly intimidated by her bubbly personality, he always did, until he got used to it again. She pulled him into a hug, her soft hair tickling his nose. Harry stayed back and smiled calmly at him.  
“Alright, mate?” He asked, clapping a hand on Neville's shoulder.  
Neville nodded. “I’m fine. How are you?”  
Ginny had taken a step back and was looking him over.  
“We are fine,” she answered for Harry and herself. “You do look good.”  
The compliment made him blush.  
They slowly walked up to their seats, while Ginny was chatting the whole time, telling him about this and that, about Ron and Hermione, about Teddy and work. Neville listened attentively, his head tilted to the side a little, smiling at her, whenever she looked up to him. Harry sometimes chipped in with something, but mostly stayed silent. When they sat down, Harry leaned closer to Neville, “How come, you are inviting us to a Quidditch match? I never thought you were that interested?” He asked.  
Neville turned pink. “My Boyfriend is playing today.” He mumbled.  
Ginny's head perked up. “Your Boyfriend? You have a new Boyfriend?”  
Neville nodded cautious. Ginny started to bombard him with questions. “Who is it? How long have you been together? Why haven't you told me?”  
Harry leaned back into his chair, he wasn't all that interested in gossip. He had by no means a problem with Neville being gay, but he was not dying to hear all about it.  
Neville smiled shyly, he felt a bit overwhelmed by Ginny's excitement.  
“It's Oliver.” He began and Ginny gasped and Harry leaned forward. “Oliver Wood?” He asked incredulous.  
“Yeah, Oliver Wood.” Neville confirmed before he looked away. Ginny elbowed her Boyfriend.  
“I'm sorry Neville, it's great. I was just surprised.” Harry apologized to Neville, who seemed hurt by his friends reaction. Neville was scolding himself inwardly for his pettishness.  
“So how long have you been together?” Ginny asked again, gentler this time.  
“Three or four months.”  
Ginny smiled widely at him. “That's so great. I’m so happy for you.” She turned in her seat to hug him.  
The rest of the time, they watched the game in relative silence, aside from cries and shouts and the occasional cheering.  
But Neville secretly was glad when the game was over. Logically he knew that flying was a second nature to Oliver, but he always felt uncomfortable, when he saw him flying Looping’s and other stunts so high up in the air. He also was glad, that the Puddelmeres won the game, otherwise Oliver would have been down for weeks. 

Oliver was beaming, when he finally found Neville and the other two outside, waiting for him.  
“There you are. I was looking for you for ages.” He kissed Neville, before he even turned around to greet Harry an Ginny.  
“Great game, wasn't it? Hello you two, brilliant you came.”  
“Hey Wood. Blimey, that move you made when Nash tried to blindside you.” Harry said.  
Oliver was bursting with positive energy.  
“Yeah. Come on, I introduce you to the team. We are going to celebrate in the pub. You are coming with us, right?” He didn't gave them the time to answer, he just grabbed Neville's hand and led them away. The rest of the team stood together, cheering and chatting loudly. Before they could reach them Neville tried to free himself from Olivers grip.  
“Olli, wait!”  
“What?” He stopped abruptly, so that Harry nearly ran into him.  
“You are still holding my hand.” Neville pointed out.  
“It's alright, most of them are cool with that.”  
Neville frowned. “Are you sure? You said, it was still a problem.”  
“I don't care Nev, it's not my concern if anyone has a problem with whom I spent my free time with.”  
“But this is not your free time, not entirely.” Neville stressed.  
“Don't be so hair-splitting. Everyone else has their partners around, I have that right too. Cassidy has her wife with her, so it's alright.”  
“If you say so.” Neville trailed behind him, feeling very self-conscious.  
“Hey everyone, this is Neville Longbottom, my Boyfriend.” Oliver introduced him casually. Nearly the whole team cheered and smiled at Neville. Just one guy was making a sour face. But Neville was quickly forgotten, when Harry and Ginny reached the group. They all shook hands and assured one another of their amazing Quidditch skills.  
“Oi, lovebirds. We're leaving for the Pub. Are you coming?” Someone shouted and Oliver gripped Neville around the waist, to aperrate safely side-by-side. 

Neville finished his pint. They had the whole pub to themselves and the Team really was in a mood to celebrate. Conversations were held from one end of the room to another and it was so loud that one had to scream to be heard by his neighbor. Neville had had a nice conversation with Susan, Mara Cassidy's wife. He couldn't talk to the players because all they were interested in, was to talk about the game and their exploit, it bored him out of his skull. Susan worked as a healer in St. Mungos, that's how she met Mara. So they talked about the decreasing quality of medical plants that needed to be imported. Neville had to admit that he, against all his expectations, was enjoying himself. Oliver came by from time to time, to make sure that Neville was alright, but quickly was led away again, by someone who wanted to clink glasses with him.  
But Neville was alright with that. He settled into a quieter corner and nursed his drink, watching the hustle and bustle around him. The only thing that bothered him, was the bulky guy, who was one of the beaters, if he could remember right,- starring over to him from time to time, glaring daggers.  
When Oliver came by the next time, he told him about it.  
“Who? Tate? Just ignore the guy, he's a real arsehole.” He assuaged him.  
After his fifth pint and the one whiskey he snuck in, Neville had to pee, so he made his way to the bathroom. He already felt a bit wobbly. At the door, he nearly bumped into Tate, who blocked the doorframe.  
“Watch were you’re going, pansy.” He snarled.  
If Neville had been sober, he would have looked down on the floor and apologized meekly, but he was pleasantly drunk and sometimes when he was drunk, he was belligerent.  
So he held his head up high and said as clearly as he could “Fuck of, you arsehole.”  
Tate's face went almost purple. “What did you say?” He asked quietly, low and dangerous.  
Neville knew that he was digging a hole for himself, but it send a excited chill along his spine and so he took one step closer to the bulky guy and looked right into his face. “I said: fuck off, moron.” He said slowly.  
Then everything happened very fast and he found himself being pinned to the wall, the beaters large hands around his neck, choking him. He angrily struggled to get free, but Tate’s grip only got stronger.  
“I'm gonna teach you to call me an asshole.”  
Suddenly Neville heard the door clap, heard the noise from the party louder and then quieter again and he heard Oliver's voice. He and Harry had walked in, talking loudly, but they both stopped short when they noticed they were not alone.  
“Oi, what the hell is going on here.” Oliver asked confused, seeing his boyfriend being brutally pinned to the wall.  
“You let go of him, this instant, or you’ll regret it!” He poked Tate's neck with his wand.  
“Now!” He demanded.  
Tate let go of Neville and stepped aside, just to be threatened by Harry's wand, pointing straight at his chest. Neville slid down the wall.  
“Are you alright?” Oliver kneeled down beside Neville, eying him worriedly.  
“I'm alright.” Neville said, rubbing his neck. Oliver stood up again and offered him a hand to help him up.  
“What happened?”  
“He grabbed me and pinned me against the wall.” Neville accused Tate.  
“That little scum called me arsehole!” Tate was outraged.  
Harry made an doubting face, he couldn't believe that Neville would do that. But Oliver turned to Neville.  
“Did you call him that?”  
Neville shrugged his shoulders, “ He insulted me first.” He protested.  
“Are you drunk, baby?”  
“ A bit.” He confessed. Suddenly he felt bad about picking a fight with one of Oliver's Teammates. “I'm sorry Olli.” He hung his head.  
Oliver lifted his chin. “It's alright, he really is an arsehole.” He chuckled. Then he turned to Tate.  
“You are so lucky my friend, that I'm in such a good mood. But if you put your grubby hands on my boyfriend ever again, I’ll hex you into next week. Understood?” He gave Tate the evil eye, before he poked him once again with his wand. “Piss of.” He told him and Tate needn't to be told twice.  
“Now to you, love.” Neville gulped at Oliver's words.  
“What were you thinking about picking a fight with that guy? If we hadn't arrived by pure luck, he could have hurt you.”  
“I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking.”  
“Damn right you weren't thinking!” Oliver confirmed.“Do you want to go home?” He asked more softly.  
But Neville shook his head.  
“Alright, but then I want you to stick to Butterbeer. And you’ll order some chips and eat them. All of them. Understood?” He commanded.  
Neville could see Harry's bewildered expression about their exchange, but he couldn't bring himself to care. That Oliver talked to him like that, only meant, that he was not mad at him for getting into a fight with one of his Teammates. If he had been really angry with him, he would have tried to reason with him, or he would have completely ignored him.  
He only nodded happily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Soundtrack for the next Day (which I'm not going to write) would be Sunday from BlocParty.
> 
> I would love to hear your opinion. Thanks for reading!


	7. Home alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW Eating Disorder.

Neville took of his clothes and stepped into the shower. His movements were stiff and tired, although it wasn't that late at night. He was alone. Oliver had been gone for two weeks now- for a training camp in Ireland. He would be back the day after tomorrow. After he had showered, he walked into the bedroom, ignoring the kitchen and the angry noises his stomach made, falling right into the huge, empty bed. He had finally moved in fully, just a day after their one-year anniversary, a week before Oliver had left for his trip. Now, all his plants were sitting on the long windowsill, his cloaks were hanging neatly next to Oliver's and his herbology books shared the bookshelf with magazines and books about Quidditch. 

He reached over to Oliver's side, pulling at his blanket and pressing it against his torso, hoping the heaviness would push against the hunger pains and stop his stomach from growling.  
He hadn't eaten in two days.  
The first few days after Oliver had left, he had tried to keep to his established routine. Eating Breakfast, packing lunch and making himself dinner. But the second day he had skipped his lunch and the third day he had cracked open the bottle of whisky instead of making dinner. He knew that Oliver would have been disappointed, if he knew what Neville was doing in his absence. If he was honest with himself, Neville was disappointed too. He had been determined to prove, that he indeed was able to take care of himself properly, but after the fourth day, he had given up. His routine had changed into getting out of bed in the morning, excessively too late, drowning a hangover portion, taking a quick shower, apperating to work, trying to hide how tired and exhausted he was, apperating home, and then either he ate something, because drinking on an empty stomach just made him nauseous, or he ignored the food and alcohol and went straight to bed. In fact, this was just how he had lived before he had met Oliver and he still was alive and healthy, so how bad could it be?  
The lack of food one moment made him  
high-strung and he felt full of energy, able to do twice the work than usual, but the next moment he felt so weak, that he could barely stand.  
He knew, that not eating wasn't anything to be proud of, but the longer he was going without food, the more he felt he had accomplished something.  
He fell asleep, Oliver's blanked pressed to his chest and stomach, longing for his Boyfriends warm presence. 

The next morning, the nearly unbearable hunger was gone. But he put an extra spoon full sugar in his tea, for the bit of energy, he hoped would keep him going through the day.  
The whole day, he was on edge. He nearly cried when his petty colleague accused him of taking her scissors, which he hadn't, she finally found them ingrown in the fast growing ivy they had to work with. And then he nearly cried again, when she found them and apologized to him, because it meant, that they had to start all over again, trimming the plant.  
He knew that his emotional instability had to do with his neglect of nutrition and lack of sleep, he had experienced that often enough. He needed to eat. He needed to rest. He couldn't let Oliver see him this way. 

On his way home, he bought two helpings from the friendly Vietnamese witch, who had her little restaurant just around the corner of their apartment building. 

He didn't bother with hanging up his cloak, he just let it slip from his shoulders, building a messy pile on the kitchen floor. He knew that this was going to happen. It always did, eventually. He was standing there, hunched over the counter, stuffing his face with the food. Hardly was he chewing. He burned his tongue and mouth but couldn't stop to gorge. After a while he slowed down a bit, but continued to eat. After what he had bought was gone, he turned to the the kitchen cabinets, looking for the chocolate, he knew had to be somewhere. When he had found it, he impatiently ripped it open and bit into it. He hadn't eaten chocolate in over a year. The sweetness exploded in his mouth and he shook with the overstimulation of his tastebuds.  
After the chocolate was gone too, he looked down at the mess he made. But he felt no real emotion by facing his failures again. With a flick of his wand, he vanished all of it. Then he walked into the bathroom, placed the glass he had brought with him, on the floor next to the toilet. He didn't know were to put his toothbrush, the bathroom in his old flat had been so tiny, that the shower was just next to the toilet, and he had usually lined up the things he needed on the low rim of the shower tub. Here, the shower was too far away, so he took a towel and placed his toothbrush on top of it.  
He doffed off his sweater, folding it neatly, placing it in front of the toilet, as a cushion for his knees. Tapping the glass with his wand and murmuring ‘aquamenti’, it filled itself with water. He drowned it in two large gulps and repeated that action several times, before he felt that his belly was uncomfortably stretched and hurt from all the food and water. Than he kneeled down in front of the toilet and took in several deep breaths. Neville reached for the toothbrush and put the end without the brush in his mouth. First he let it rest lightly on top of his tongue, before he pushed it further down his throat, until it stimulated the gag reflex. He dry heaved and little light dots were dancing before his eyes. The second time he pushed if down, it had the wanted effect. Several tears were running down his face, produced from the force of vomiting. Seven times he had to push the brush in, before he felt it was enough. Tiredly he rested his head in his arms, supported by the toilet bowl. Then he pushed himself to stand and walked over to the washbasin, to brush his teeth. Unfortunately he only had that one toothbrush, but he had no energy right now to transfigure another one. So he just cleaned it rigorously with hot water. He wiped his eyes dry and splashed his face with cold water. His reflection in the mirror looked pale and exhausted, his blue eyes bloodshot and glassy. He undid his belt and stepped out of his trousers and underwear. In the shower he turned on the water way to hot, but it felt good, the heat prickling on his cold, sweaty skin. He leaned his shaky body against the wall for support and just let the water run over him. He didn't know how long he had been standing there, but finally he washed himself and turned the shower off. He wrapped himself into his dressing grown and painfully slow he collected his clothes to put them in the laundry basket. Sometimes he really wished they had a house elf. With the glass in his hand, he looked around, if he had forgotten anything, but the room looked as normal as always.  
After he had brought the glass back into the kitchen, he filled it with water again, sipping from it slowly. It smoothed his burning throat at least a little bit.  
In the bedroom he crawled onto the bed, not bothering to get under the covers. 

He woke up with a cry, because a noise had startled him. Someone was in the room.  
“Shh Baby, it’s only me.” Oliver whispered, “I'm sorry I scared you.” He lit the candles with a flick of his wand, so they could see something.  
Neville sat up drowsily and blinked several times to shake the sleepiness.  
“I thought you wouldn't be home before tomorrow evening.” His heart was racing, panicked he asked himself if he had left any traces of his excesses behind? But he had replaced the booze already two days ago, as well as the hangover portions and he had tidied up after him earlier. The only thing he had had no time to replace was the chocolate, but he was certain, that Oliver would not be suspicious about missing chocolate.  
Oliver nodded. “Yes, that was the plan, but Todd Lester got injured this afternoon, I'm coming straight from St. Mungos.”  
He sat down next to Neville, who scooted a bit to give him space.  
“Is he going to be alright?” Neville asked concerned, but Oliver waved his worries aside. “Only a concussion, he will be right as rain tomorrow.”  
“What time is it?” Neville asked groggily.  
“Nearly 3 in the morning, sorry for waking you.”  
“It's alright, I'm glad that you're home. Without any broken bones.”  
Oliver smirked, “Do you want to show me, how glad you are that I am home?” Oliver slid over, kneeling between Neville's thighs, nibbling playfully at his jaw.  
Neville closed his eyes and smiled before he leaned into a kiss.  
Oliver opened Neville's dressing gown.  
“Merlin, you are freezing. You do know, that blankets are for sleeping underneath, not on top of them?”  
“I lay down to rest a bit, I didn't plan on falling asleep.” Neville said.  
“Are you alright baby? You look a bit pale.” Oliver remarked worriedly.  
“I had a bit of a cold, the last few days. But it's gone now.” Neville lied nonchalantly.  
“Alright, let's see how we can get you warm again,” Oliver said, while stroking his lovers inner thighs. He smiled at the immediate reaction.  
“Well, I see, warming you up won't take too long.” He sounded satisfied.  
Neville just moaned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constructive criticism is very much appreciated. Thank you for reading, hope you enjoy it.  
> The Song for this chapter would be Mary Jane by Alanis Morissette.


	8. Breaking down

Oliver frowned, while he watched his boyfriend eat. Neville felt Oliver’s glance linger on him and looked up from his plate.  
“What?” he asked annoyed.  
“Something wrong with the food?”  
Neville looked at him confused. “No, why are you asking?”  
“Because you pushing it around on your plate instead of eating it.” Oliver pointed out.  
Neville shrugged, “Yeah, well I’m not very hungry.”  
“Nev, you are never really hungry, and in the last two months this has increased. You say that at every meal. Honestly, I’m getting a bit worried. You’ve lost weight too.” Oliver’s voice sounded soft and casual, as if he was talking about the weather. Neville, who had tensed up, relaxed a bit again.  
He tried to smile reassuringly, but might’ve failed at that, because Oliver still looked dead serious.  
“I have not lost weight, love, don’t be silly.” He said.  
“Neville, I see you naked everyday, I touch you everyday. I know that you have lost at least 5 pounds in the last few weeks.”  
“You say it, as if it is something bad.” Neville tried a laugh, but his attempt to lift the mood failed again, if possible, Oliver looked even more severe.  
“It is bad, if you loose it through not eating! And you are already pretty skinny.” Oliver’s voice was slightly raised.  
“I am eating.” Neville was getting agitated. “Can we please stop talking about it? Just tell me to eat, and you know I'll do it.”  
Oliver reached over the table, caressing Neville’s right cheek lovingly. “I know, but I do also know, that this is not the answer for everything.” They stared at each other for several seconds. “You would tell me, if anything was wrong?” Neville wondered that Oliver could sound so vulnerable, so pleading. He nodded slowly.  
“Good.” Oliver smiled at him. “And now, finish what’s on you plate. You’re not leaving the table until you’re done!” he made his voice sound so stern, that it sent shivers down Neville’s spine. 

Despite his promise, the last thing that Neville intended to do, was to tell Oliver about his relapse or the problem at all. This was his rule. Not to tell anyone ever again. He was grown up, he had to solve his problems by himself. Unfortunately, this one relapse was followed by several other incidents. But Neville kept pushing his concerns aside. This only was a phase. The stress at work was getting to him, and soon it would be all better and he would stop again. He had done it once; he could do it again. And that he was loosing weight, for him, it was an unintentional, but not unwelcomned side effect.  
But it was not always that he felt like this, sometimes, he wished he could just tell Oliver, curl up by his side and hand all the responsibility over to him.

It was late afternoon, when Neville was done with work this day. On his way home he went into Sugarplums and grabbed as many sweets as he could carry with both hands and brought them over to the young, bored witch at the counter. He placed all the chocolate and toffees in front of her and without a word went again, to fetch some more. When he came back, she looked at him curiously. He kept his eyes down, knowing that he was blushing.  
‘She doesn’t know, she doesn’t know.’ He tried to swallow his shame and still his hands from shaking. He was about to hand her the money, when the doorbell rang and another customer entered the shop. Neville startled so badly, that he spilled the Knuts and Sickles all over the counter. He started to apologize frantically, but the girl only snorted and handed him his bag, while with her free hand she accioed the money. Neville hurried out of the shop. 

He was out of breath from running when he reached the apartment building and waited impatiently for the goblin to operate the elevator. He was glad that he could go home, because Oliver would be home later in the evening. One day, when the urge to binge was overwhelming, but he couldn’t do it at home, because Oliver was there, he had to retreat into one of the dark, dirty alleys. The whole time, he was afraid that someone might walk by and see him and he swore to himself not ever to do it again. 

At home, he hung his coat up neatly, before he brought his bag of loot into the kitchen. Still his hands were shaking, so much, that he had problems to tear open the wrapping of the chocolate frogs. He stepped away from the counter and took a few calming breaths, opening and closing his fists while doing so. After that, he was calmer.  
When he was through with the pile of sweets, he threw up right into the kitchen sink, his stomach turning from all the sugar. He cleaned up and even though he already got rid of most what he had stuffed down his throat, he walked into the bathroom, to end the ritual properly. He didn’t count how many times he pushed his toothbrush down. His legs were shaking underneath him, when he stood to clean the brush, trying to get rid of the disgusting smell on his hands and the burning acid in his mouth and nose. He clutched the brink of the washbasin, unable to stand up straight, shivering and breathing heavily. He was aware of the front door being opened and closed again. He heard Oliver call his name, but when he tried to move, everything shortly went black and he had to mobilise all his strength not to let go of the brink and pass out on the bathroom floor.  
“Nev?” he heard Oliver behind him, “Are you all right?”  
“No…. please Olli.” His voice cracked.  
Oliver quickly wrapped his arm around his waist and supported his weight.  
“What’s wrong? What happened?” Oliver asked, while he helped Neville to sit down and lean against the wall. His voice was filled with panic.  
“Nothing happened, I just got sick.” Neville said quietly, leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes.  
“Damn it Neville, you nearly passed out on the bathroom floor. That’s not nothing.” He held his hand to Neville’s cold and clammy neck, to feel his pulse, his breathing still was a bit erratic.  
“I had to throw up and then I got dizzy.” Neville explained.  
“You are probably dehydrated.” Oliver was talking more to himself than to Neville. “I’m going to get some water, alright?”  
Neville nodded and Oliver left, but was back within seconds. He held a glass to his lips.  
“Now careful, tiny sips.” Now that his panic had calmed down a little, he was trying to comfort his boyfriend. “Good. That’s good.” He crooned, when Neville had finished the water.  
“Better?” he asked and Neville nodded.  
“Yeah, thanks. I would like to shower.” He said.  
Oliver turned the shower on, waiting for the water to get hot, then he helped Neville to stand. He opened his belt for him and pushed down his underwear, not noticing that it was strange that Neville was not wearing a shirt. Neville staggered overt to the shower, rickety like a new-born lamb. Spontaneously Oliver undressed himself too and stepped into the shower after Neville. He put an amount of shower gel in his hands, foamed it and started to lather the exhausted body of his boyfriend carefully.  
“Arms up.” He told him and Neville lifted his arms, as high as he could without loosing his balance.  
“Close your eyes.” He said, before he shampooed Neville’s hair. Then he stepped out of the shower, drying himself quickly. He turned the shower off and wrapped Neville’s shivering frame in a large towel, rubbing him down gently.  
“Let’s get you into bed baby.” Oliver said and walked in the direction of the bedroom, Neville following him obediently.  
He let Oliver dress him in his pyjamas and laid down on his side of the bed.  
“I’m sorry.” He whispered.  
“What for?” Oliver asked him.  
“Being such a bother to you.”  
“Listen, you are never a bother to me. Don’t talk such nonsense.” Oliver said sternly.  
“Now, sleep. I’m going to wake you up later.”  
Neville nodded defeated and closed his eyes, mainly to hide the tears that were welling up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to get at least one comment on this fic. Even though I really appreciate kudos, it doesn't tell me what you liked and what you may didn't liked so much. But I'm getting the impression this fic is pretty boring...  
> it's ok if you don't comment to praise it, but I really would like to know what I could do better.  
> So please, spare a bit of time to tell me your opinion.


	9. Everything is going to be alright

Neville had slept for two hours, but now he was starring at the ceiling, feeling miserable.  
He heard Oliver's footsteps coming into the direction of the bedroom. He turned to the side closing his eyes again. Maybe if he pretended to be still asleep, he could get a bit more time to think about what to say to Oliver. Because he would ask questions, that was sure.  
The door opened and Oliver walked in with a tray. He placed it on the bedside table, balancing it on top of Neville's messy book stack. Neville could feel the mattress dip, when Oliver sat down next to him.  
“Come on Nev, I know that you are awake.” Oliver said, while he ran his big hands through Neville's hair. Neville turned over, blinking up to Oliver, expecting to be interrogated. But Oliver just pointed at the bowl on the tray.  
“I made you soup, love. Can you sit up?”  
Reluctantly Neville sat up and Oliver stuffed another cushion behind his back, so he could sit up straight, while leaning back. Oliver handed him the bowl with soup. Neville closed his cold hands around it and relished its warmth, but he hesitated to drink from it, still everything hurt and he was not sure how his stomach would react to it.  
“Just take a few sips.” Oliver told him, still sitting on the edge of the bed.  
Neville lifted the bowl to his lips, it smelled good and his empty stomach growled with hunger. He carefully sipped from it. It was warm and salty and smoothed his hurting esophagus and calmed down his upset stomach almost instantly. He took larger sips, soon the bowl was empty. Oliver took the bowl from his hands and placed it on the tray again.  
“Thank you.” Neville said quietly, avoiding to look at him.  
“You’re welcome.” Oliver said. “Are you feeling a bit better now?”  
Neville nodded, “But I’m still tired.” He said, feeling indeed very sleepy, now that his stomach was filled with warm soup.  
“That's alright love, go to sleep. Luckily it's Saturday tomorrow, so you can sleep in.”  
He pulled out the pillow from behind Neville's back, so he could lay down again. He caressed Neville cheek.  
“Tomorrow it will be all right again.” He whispered, but Neville highly doubted that.

When Neville woke up again, it was already dark outside, but Oliver was not lying beside him. Neville got out of bed and walked into the living room. Oliver was sitting on the couch, his feet casually placed on the coffee table, reading a magazine.  
He looked up when he heard Neville move behind him.  
“Hey.” He smiled.  
Neville tried to smile back, but felt like his face was just twisting into a grimace.  
“Hey.” He said too.  
Oliver was waiting for him to say more, but Neville didn't know what he could possibly say.  
“Do you want some tea?”  
“No thank you, I'm just going to the loo and then back to bed.”  
Oliver looked at him, with piecing eyes and Neville shifted uncomfortably, before turning around. The tension was unbearable.  
“I'm coming to bed soon.”Oliver called after Neville, who pretended not to have heard him. He felt guilt and shame for what he had done, he felt it every time he had done it, but not as much as this time. Oliver's affective concern over him, made these awful emotions burn brighter in his chest. When he looked at his reflection in the mirror, he wondered how much he had changed in the last few years. And although he was too pale and had tired shadows under his eyes, he didn't look to bad. His face had lost his baby fat, but was still round, what gave him an open, cheerful expression. He often thought that his face was the best disguise for all the sad secrets he was hiding. The paleness of his skin, brought out the few freckles on his nose and cheeks, and contrasted his dark hair and sparkling blue eyes, framed by long lashes. He looked a bit younger than 21, 18 or 19 maybe, while Oliver looked older than 25. They were four years apart.  
He could see that he was fairly good looking, but all he wanted to do, was to punch the mirror and see his reflection smashed into the thousand little pieces, he felt he was broken into.  
But he didn't do nothing, only washed his hands and left the bathroom again. Before he reached the bedroom, Oliver caught him around the middle from behind, and pressed kisses to his nape.  
“I'm not in the mood, Olli.” Neville said, freeing himself with more force than it would have been necessary.  
“That's not what I meant, Neville.” Oliver said and Neville heard that he was hurt. He turned around, his eyes pleading for understanding and forgiveness.  
“I know, I'm sorry.”  
“It's alright.” Oliver answered softly. And Neville felt bad, once again.

He crawled back into bed, facing away from Oliver's side, so his boyfriend only could see his back, when he came to bed several minutes later. Oliver tentatively reached out for Neville and stoked his shoulder lightly.  
“Are you ok, baby?”  
Neville couldn't stand being touch like this; tender and lovingly, when he was such a disgusting piece of shit.  
“Don't touch me!” He snapped at Oliver.  
He felt Oliver's grip loosen, but after a few silent seconds it tightened again.  
“Turn around.” He said quietly.  
“No.” Neville's voice was petulant.  
“Neville, turn around this instant. Now, or you’ll regret it.”  
Neville knew this were only empty threats, Oliver would never hurt him. But after a few seconds he turned around anyway, this was just how it worked.  
Oliver just looked at him, his calmness made Neville nervous.  
“What?” He spat, while sitting up.  
Oliver put a hand on his chin and forced him to look at him.  
“Can you please tell me, what for Merlin’s sake, is your damn problem?” His eyes were wandering oder Neville's face, trying to decrypt his boyfriend.  
Neville pulled his head away from Oliver's grip and closed his eyes.  
“I'm sorry.” He said.  
After that a long silence followed, time ticking away in the rooms half darkness.  
“I'm sorry,” he said again, “I have to tell you something.” Even though he still had his eyes closed, he could feel Oliver's glance linger on him.  
“I don't want you to touch me, because I don't deserve it.”  
“What are you talking about?” Oliver was confused.  
“I'm not feeling bad because I'm sick, I'm sick because I'm feeling bad.” He rushed out. He opened his eyes to see if Oliver had understood him, but Oliver face was one big question mark.  
He breathed in. “I made myself sick.” He said.  
Oliver just stared at him.  
“What? How?” He sounded strangely breathless.  
Neville shrugged, “I stuff myself with food and afterwards I force myself to throw up.” He broke it down to this simple explanation.  
Oliver was shaking his head slowly, looking shell shocked.  
“I knew you have a problem with food and eating and stuff, but I didn't thought it was that bad.” He whispered.  
“It's not that bad, Olli.” Neville tried to reassure him.  
“Neville, this is really bad. I'm in professional sports, I know this kind of behavior. Two years ago, the seeker of the American Quidditch team died, because she had a eating disorder.” He got out of bed and paced in front of it. Suddenly he stopped and looked at Neville.  
“ How long is this going on?” He wanted to know.  
Neville cringed at the accusing tone, but answered him anyway.  
“I relapsed a few weeks ago. The night you came back from Ireland.”  
He pulled his knees to his chest, bracing himself for the angry rant he was expecting to come. But nothing came. Oliver sat down heavily on the footboard.  
“And when did it start?” He asked softly.  
Neville thought for a while. “Well, I guess I always used food, especially sweets, to comfort me, when I was sad or upset. The first time I threw up on purpose was when I was 16, I think. But it didn't happen too often.” He looked at his hands before he continued.  
“It got bad when I moved out and into my own flat. I was alone, I could do whatever I wanted, I just started working and everything was too much for me to handle.”  
His voice gave up and he stayed silent for a while. Oliver attempted to reach out to him, but Neville shook his head. He knew he would brake down crying, if Oliver showed him any kind of gentleness.  
“Then, one day I came home from work, and I must have passed out, because I woke up, hours later, on the floor, still with my cloak and scarf on. I didn't know what happened, I couldn't remember and it really scared me.” He continued. “ I went to a healer for help.”  
“That's good.” Oliver interrupted him. Neville shook his head.  
“No, this guy was a total idiot. He gave me some cheer up portions. They only made me nervous. I didn't go again. But I told my Grandmother. Big mistake. She yelled at me and told me, that my parents would be so disappointed. That I was weak and pathetic, that I should be ashamed of myself.” He took a shouldering breath.  
“The week after that, I didn't know what to do. Of course I wanted to be strong, to make my parents proud, but it's hard to be strong when you feel like shit, you know?” He ran his hands through his hair. “And then I went to visit my parents, and suddenly I realized that they were neither proud, nor disappointed in me, because they had no idea that I even existed. This realization was extremely liberating. I understood, that all I was doing only concerned me, nobody else. So if I wanted to get better, I had to fight for it myself.”  
“And did you fight?” Oliver asked.  
Neville nodded. “Every day. It was hard. When I met you, I’d gone nearly six months without binging and purging.”  
“How often… how many times have you done it, since we are together?” Oliver dared to ask.  
“With today, maybe eight times.” Neville answered honestly.  
“So you’ve stopped for one and a half years?”  
Neville nodded.  
“That's great. I mean, it's just a relapse. They happen. Everything is going to be alright again.” Oliver sputtered out, sounding relived. He stood up and got back into bed, next to Neville.  
“Can I please hold you, baby?” He asked pleadingly. Neville scooped over, to lean against Oliver's chest. Oliver wrapped his arms protectively around Neville's torso.  
“You are ok, baby. You are going to be fine. You are not alone anymore. We are in this together.” He rocked slightly back and forth and Neville really felt like everything was going to be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter is Relapse from Minuit Machine. Great Band, listen to it !
> 
> I'd love to get comments. 
> 
> Thanks for reading.


	10. Hurt

They had fallen asleep like that, Neville resting against Oliver's chest, his muscular arm, firmly around Neville's waist. Neville woke up and moaned; his neck hurt like hell. Carefully, not to wake Oliver, he wiggled out of his grip. He stood up and walked over to the window. It must have been shortly after dawn, because it was lighter outside, but the sky was so gray and clouded, that the sun couldn't properly come through. He shuddered. On naked feet he padded into the bathroom, he liked the quiet noice they made on the floor. It made him feel like the flat was his home. 

When he slipped back under the covers, he warned his cold feet under Oliver's blanket. The next time he woke up, the other side of the bed was desolate, he reckoned it was around 12. The weather still was gloomy and fitted his mood perfectly. He decided to put up with the eventual headache oversleeping would bring and closed his eyes again. 

He moaned unwillingly, when Oliver shook him awake.  
“Rise and shine, darling.” Oliver said cheerfully but quickly became more serious when Neville shook his head.  
“It's after 2pm, you should really get up.”  
“Why? I don't have to work.” Neville's voice was tiny.  
“But you can't spent the whole day in bed.”  
Neville said nothing.  
“Look, I know it was a hard day yesterday, but it's not good for you to spend the whole day in bed sulking. You know, that would make you just more miserable.” Oliver tried to convince him.  
Neville closed his eyes. He hadn't the strength to argue.  
“Can you just leave me alone?” He asked, facing away from Oliver.  
“No, I want you to get up and eat something, you only had the soup yesterday.”  
Neville sat up and glared at his boyfriend.  
“That's what it is about, isn't it? Now that I told you, you’ll make a fuss and try to fatten me?” He yelled.  
Oliver shook his head. “Are you even listening to yourself? You just told me, that you are struggling with an eating disorder for five years now and then you expect me not to worry? You are not making it better, being irritable like that.”  
His calmness made Neville furious. “I don't need you to look after me. I'm grown up, I can take care of myself. Sod off and leave me alone. “ he was gesturing widely at the door.  
Without another word Oliver stood up and walked away, slamming the door behind him.  
Neville started to cry. 

He could feel himself becoming hysteric, his hands clawing at the soft skin under his collarbone, wrapping them around his throat, to stifle his sobbing.  
He dropped his hands when he heard a knock on the door and Oliver stuck his head in.  
“Hey Nev,” he began, “ I wanted to apologize, I…” he stopped mid sentence.  
“Are you crying?” He had never seen Neville cry before. He had seen him listless, angry and sometimes defiant, but not crying. He sat down next to his boyfriend and tried to comfort him. Neville pushed him away.  
“Go away.” He said in a hoarse voice, hard to understand.  
He raised his hand to push against Oliver's chest, when Oliver noticed the red lines Neville fingernails had left under his collarbone, peeking out from under the neckline of his beat up t-shirt. He caught Neville's hands and held them in a firm grip.  
“You scratched yourself, Nev.”  
“Who cares.” Neville mumbled, still visibly upset, but he had stopped to cry.  
“I care.” Oliver said softly, stroking back Neville's messy hair. “What's going on with you?”  
“I don't know.” Neville said miserably, “I told you, that sometimes I feel like I got a hole in my chest?” He looked at Oliver, who nodded.  
“I feel like it is so big, that I could crack my rip cage open and there would be nothing but darkness and emptiness.”  
Oliver shuddered at this image. “Well, I can tell you that there would be your heart,” he touched the place were Neville’s heart was,  
“here your lungs and here…” he stroked Neville's neck, “your esophagus.“  
Neville didn't react. He stared dead ahead.  
“I can't feel them,” he whispered. “It's like I'm not real.”  
“Oh Baby, is there anything I can do for you?” Oliver was desperate to help him.  
Neville blinked up to him, shyly.  
“Hurt me.” He said, his voice barely audible.  
“What?” Oliver stared at him.  
“Hurt me, please?” He said a bit louder.  
“I heard you. But Neville, I don't want to hurt you. I can't.”  
“Then leave me alone please.” Neville said in the same tone he had requested to be hurt.  
“I can't leave you alone like this, love. I’m worried you'll do something to yourself.”  
Neville shrugged his shoulders.  
They sat in silence for a while. Oliver's mind was racing, while Neville mind was blank, caged in darkness.  
“What would you want me to do? Hit you?” Oliver asked.  
“Yeah, maybe.” Neville was absent minded.  
“Neville look at me.”  
Neville's eyes were flickering over to Oliver, but almost instantly became unfocused again.  
Oliver gripped Neville's jaw, with more force than he usually used.  
“I said; look at me.” His voice was a low growl and Neville immediately reacted like Oliver wanted him to.  
He looked up to him, his beautiful blue eyes finally all there again.  
“Do you really want this?” He asked seriously.  
Neville slowly nodded.  
“Are you sure?” Oliver asked again. And again Neville nodded. Oliver sighed heavily.  
“Alright then, get up.”  
It took Neville a bit to get out of his tangled bedsheets, but then he stood beside the bed and looked expectantly at Oliver.  
“Take your clothes off. All of them.” He dictated.  
Neville did as he was told, while Oliver watched him.  
Oliver grabbed their pillows and layered them on the edge of the bed. When he turned around, Neville was completely naked. Shameful he had placed his hands over his private parts. Oliver's heart skipped a beat when he saw Neville like this. He seemed so vulnerable, his eyes wide and bright like a fearful child.  
“Come over here, love.” He beckoned him over, were he had placed the pillows.  
Cautious, Neville came closer.  
“Lean over, baby.” He said gently, when Neville was standing in front of the bed.  
Neville sent him a little sideway glance.  
“We don't have to do that, if you're not sure.” But Neville shook his head and placed himself on the cushions, so the upper part of his body rested on them. He crossed his arms and buried his head into them. His feet were placed stable on the ground, his long legs bent slightly.  
“I’m going to use my hands, ok? If you want me to stop, you say stop.” Oliver said firmly.  
“Say yes, if you agree.”  
Neville lifted his head slightly. “Yes.” He confirmed.  
“Good.” Oliver positioned himself sideways behind Neville, his jeans brushed slightly against Neville's naked legs.  
He tapped his cheeks a couple of times lightly for aim. Then he brought his hand down hard. Neville breathed in through his teeth. Oliver knew he had strength in his arms and he was a bit unsure how much force he should use. He made the hits a bit lighter, but speeded up the pace. He could hear Neville's breath becoming erratic. He slowed down a bit, but made sure he hit one spot a couple of times in a row. It must have stung. He could feel Neville's body being tensed under his hands. He saw that Neville's light skin was turning pink and he could feel heat radiating into his palms.  
Suddenly he felt lust rising up in him, his cock was hardening. He tried to push it down, this clearly was nothing Neville enjoyed sexually, so he shouldn't either. It was not like hurting him turned him on, it was more like Neville's exposed ass and hot skin were unbearable sexy. It may had to do something with the fact, that they didn't had sex in several weeks. Neville's had been to distracted, too distant and Oliver didn't liked to pressure him into intimacy.  
When he heard Neville sobbing, he stopped short, hand hanging mid air.  
“Neville, are you ok? Should I stop?” He asked alarmed. He thought he saw Neville shake his head, but he was not sure.  
“Use your words, baby.”  
“No, don't stop.” Neville's voice was just a whimper, but the words were clear.  
Oliver's hand had begun to hurt. He picked up one of Neville's slippers and dusted it off.  
He looked at the bruises that were already forming.  
“I'm going to give you five more with this slipper and then I’ll stop.“ He put his free hand around Neville's neck, to hold him steady.  
At the first strike with the slipper, Neville jolted forwards and Oliver half expected him to tell him to stop, but he didn't. For the next three he stayed silent and stiff, but the last one elicited a soft whimper from him. Oliver just let go of the slipper and it hit the floor with a quiet noice. He watched as Neville finally got limp, sinking to his knees, half kneeling on the floor. Now he could see his face, it was all red from crying, snot mixing wit tears. He wondered if this really was what Neville needed and if he had done the right thing. He closed his arms around Neville and helped him on the bed. Neville's head rested on his lower abdomen, still crying and shaking. Oliver pulled a light blanked over him. He stroked his hair and mumbled sweet nothings to him. Slowly the crying quieted down and was replaced by a soft hiccup.  
“I’m going to get you something to drink, baby. Are you going to be ok by yourself?” He made his voice sound soft and gently.  
Neville looked up at him, still with tear clouded eyes and nodded. 

When Oliver came back, he was not only holding a glass with water, but a tray wit different things on it.  
First he handed Neville the water, what he took thankfully. Then he uncorked a small vial with a deep red liquid.  
“It's the pain relief portion, I think it's better if you’d drink it.”  
Neville took the glass meekly from his hands and drank it down. Oliver sat down by his side again, holding a goblet filled with warm water and a towel. He dipped the end of the towel in the water and wrung it out, before he brought it carefully to Neville's face. He cleaned his face with the warm water and was glad to see that Neville obvious was recovering. He looked a lot better by now.  
“How are you feeling, baby?”  
“Not particularly good right now, it hurts. But at least I feel like I can breath again.”  
Oliver spooned him from behind and they rested a while in silence. 

“I’m gonna make us something to eat. Are you coming?” Oliver nuzzled Neville's nape with his nose.  
“Yeah, but I’m taking a shower first.”

Neville strolled into the living room, to sit down at his place at the already set table.  
He smiled at the pillow on his seat.  
“Very thoughtful.” He said and Oliver couldn't decide if he meant it serious or sarcastic.  
They still sat at the table and kept talking, long after they had finished the meal, something they didn't do too often these days.  
Suddenly Oliver felt Neville's foot in his lap, rubbing at his tight in a very suggestive way.  
“Nev, we don't have to do that now.” He said weakly, already feeling his pants getting tight.  
Neville smiled mildly.  
“It did turn you on earlier, didn't it.” He asked.  
Oliver blushed embarrassed, but he nodded.  
“Don't get me wrong, I don't like hurting you. It's just…” he trailed off.  
Neville took his hand, “It’s alright, I understand. We haven't had sex in a while and I’m sorry.”  
“That's ok, you weren't feeling good and…” Oliver started but was shushed by Neville who had gotten up and put his arms around his chest from behind.  
“We can go to bed now.” He whispered in his ear.  
“But won't it hurt you? “ Oliver was concerned.  
Neville waved his worries aside. “Nah, and who said you were going to top?” He raised an eyebrow and simultaneously to that movement a shiver run down Oliver's spine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to hear your opinion!!  
> Comments and Kudos are highly appreciated.


	11. Cold

The months until Christmas were calm ones, with more good days than bad days. Christmaseve they spend with Neville's grandmother, what turned out to be a disaster. Augusta Longbottom left no doubt, that she disapproved of nearly all her grandsons life decisions, starting by his job up to the point of his choice of partner. In the end, all three of them were nibbling at their biscuits in frosty silence.   
Oliver cursed her silently, when he had to pick up the pieces of Neville's shattered self esteem that night.   
Originally they had planed to floo to Oliver's childhood home quite early in the day, but he decided to let Neville sleep in, as they had fallen asleep not until five in the morning.   
Oliver smiled fondly, when he looked at Neville's sleeping face. He was so peaceful. His lashes looked like drawn with dark ink on his translucent skin. His lips were slightly parted and he was breathing quietly. Oliver made himself some coffee, and when he purred himself the second mug, Neville padded into the kitchen, rubbing at his eyes and trying to smooth out his bed hair.   
“Morning love. Did you sleep well?”  
Neville nodded, smiling sleepily.   
“Good morning. Aren't we late?”  
“Yeah, but I thought I let sleep you in.”  
“Sorry.” Neville said guiltily.  
“It's alright baby, I slept in as well. My Mum won't mind.” Oliver reassured him. “Do you want some tea?” He asked, lifting the kettle.   
“Yes, thank you.” Neville watched Oliver fill his favourite mug with water and milk, before he handed it over.   
“No breakfast?” He wondered.  
“You can have some, if you want to, but I think my Mum will prepare a big lunch, I thought you would be more comfortable without having breakfast before.” Oliver said calmly, hoping that this perspective wouldn't unsettle Neville too much.   
Neville stirred a bit of sugar into his tea and watched the liquid swirl.   
“Right.” He said quietly before he looked up and smiled a tight lipped smile.

“Welcome home, darling.” Oliver's mother threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly.   
Oliver smiled and kissed her cheeks.   
“Hello Mum.” He said tenderly.   
“Where's your Boyfriend?” She peered over his shoulder, looking around the snowy garden. Oliver turned around as well and spotted Neville bent over the rose bushes.   
“Well, it looks like he's examining your rose bushes.” He answered with a fond smile.   
His mother laughed. “A real herbologist, isn't he?” She said.   
Oliver rolled his eyes, “Tell me about it, he sometimes holds longer conversations with his plants, than with me.” He complained.   
“I bet these conversations are a lot more interesting, than talking about Quidditch.” His mother teased him.   
Oliver tried to make an offended expression, but couldn’t hold it very long, before braking into a grin. “I'm not always talking about Quidditch.” 

Neville finally tore himself away from the plants and came slowly closer, smiling shyly at Oliver's mother. He extended his hand for her to shake.  
“You have wonderful roses Mrs. Wood, they must be magnificent in the summer.” He said.  
She smiled at him warmly and nodded. “Indeed they are. Please call me Amy.” She told him.  
She was small, but looked more tough than fragile. Only the smile wrinkles and her warm brown eyes, that were similar to Oliver's, betrayed her humorous nature.  
“Well, come in boys, you must be freezing.” She took the bag Oliver was holding without any noticeable effort.   
Inside, Oliver helped Neville out of his cloak and let it disappear into a walk in closest to his left. They both slipped out of their shoes and Oliver placed them in the cupboard as well, handing Neville a pair of Gryffindor coloured slippers.   
“Where's Dad?” He asked his mother.  
She smiled amused. “Outside, checking the brooms. Well, come in, everything is ready.” She ushered Neville into a room to his right. It turned out to be a combined, very cosy dining and living room. The large Table was already set.   
“Love, could you please call in your father?” She asked Oliver, who nodded and left the room.   
Neville was standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, feeling a bit abandoned. Then he told himself to get a grip and remembered his manners.  
“Is there anything I can help you with, Mrs. Wood?” He asked her timidly.   
Again she graced him with her smile, that made her whole face lit up and gave her a youthful appearance. He tentatively smiled back.  
“You can help me in the kitchen.” She said and let the way into the spacious kitchen.   
“And call me Amy.” She reminded Neville.  
She pointed at the dishes on the counter that were filled with various winter vegetables.   
“If you please could carry them over to the table.” she instructed him and hat to smile at his eager nod. He was too cute, in his desire to please.   
Neville grabbed the dishes and carried them out of the kitchen, carefully not to drop them or to trip over something; just to run into the tall man, standing right behind the door to the dining room.  
Of course he lost his balance, and the bowls were send flying. It was only was due to Oliver’s fast reaction, that they didn’t hit the floor and spilled their contend, but were gracefully floating into the air over to the table, landing in the middle with a soft thud.  
Neville could feel his face heating up, and could imagine, that he was glowing bright red with embarrassment. The tall man chuckled quietly, and Neville starred at him. He was obviously Oliver’s father, looking just like an older version of him, just a bit leaner and with blue eyes instead of brown ones.  
“I’m sorry.” Neville apologized, looking down abjectly.  
The man shook his head. “It’s not your fault, I was standing right behind the door, so I have to apologize.” His voice sounded deep and friendly.  
“I’m Eddy. Oliver’s Dad.” He introduced himself, shaking Neville’s hand.  
“I’m Neville.”  
“Nice to finally meet you, we’ve heard a lot about you.” He told him.  
“Nice to meet you too.” Neville responded.  
Oliver watched the exchange between his father and his boyfriend like a hawk, ready to step in when needed. But they seemed to get along just fine, and he relaxed a little.  
“Go on you two, sit down.” Eddy gestured them to take their seats at the table.  
“But your mother…, maybe she needs some help.” Neville hesitated to sit down, looking at Oliver.  
“I’ll go and see if she needs help.” Eddy left for the kitchen, humming quietly to himself. 

“I’m sorry I made a fool of myself.” Neville said sadly when Oliver's father was out of the door. Oliver took one of Neville’s hands into his hand, so he couldn’t pick nervously at his cuticles anymore and rubbed calming circles into his palm.  
“You did not make a fool of yourself, love. Just relax, they like you.”  
Neville looked at him sceptical.  
“You think?”  
“I know.” Oliver said soothingly.

A family meal was something Neville hadn’t experienced in a long time and he really was unsure on how to behave when Oliver’s mother requested him to take a bit more from the carrots and practically forced him to take a second helping from the Shepard’s pie. He tried to smile and nod, determined not to rise any suspicions or to give her the impression he was being difficult.  
Oliver inconspicuously picked the things off of Neville’s plate he knew Neville felt not comfortable eating. Neville gave him a thankful smile.  
After lunch, Oliver and his father went outside, to fly a bit, while Neville stayed inside, helping Amy with the dishes. They watched them trough the kitchen window.  
“Oliver told us, that you don’t like flying that much.” Amy remarked, while she made tea for Neville and herself. Neville, who was browsing through a garden magazine, looked up and shook his head.  
“No, I feel uncomfortable that high up.” He confessed. “Oliver’s lesson helped with that a bit, but it’s still not my favourite way to travel.”  
Amy laughed. “Well, it’s not very comfortable, is it?”

“He’s a real sweetheart.” Neville heard Amy say and Oliver humming in agreement. He stayed outside and was about to knock to make his presence known, when Amy said something that made him hold his breath.  
“I knew his parents, you know.” She told her son, her voice quiet and sad.  
Oliver said nothing, but he must have made a nonverbal gesture to keep her talking as she continued.  
“I don’t remember them to well, at least not his father, they were two years below me at Hogwarts and I only can recall him being a quiet, but very good student, he was one of the best at my time at School. But I remember his mother rather clearly…” she made a long pause. Neville was fighting against the lump in his throat.  
“She was such a good soul, always so friendly and cheerful. And she was so beautiful too, she had long blond hair and her eyes were just like his. He’s very much like her, so soft-spoken and gentle. Just…” she made a pause again.  
“What?” Oliver asked.  
“Well, she was not insecure like him. She was more open, not so guarded.” She said and Neville could feel something like anger rising in him, what right did she have to talk about him that way.  
Oliver seemed to feel the same way, because he sounded a bit aggravated when he answered.  
“Well, if he had been lucky enough to grow up with her, he probably wouldn’t be so insecure, but he didn’t, he grew up with this old hag of a grandmother instead, pressuring him to life up to her expectations and to his dead fathers ideal.”  
“I didn’t mean it that way, Oliver, he’s alright. He’s a sweet, wonderful boy, and I’m glad that you are happy. Just… you have to be careful, not to make his problems your problems. You can’t take away the pain of the past, so don’t annihilate yourself by trying it.”  
Neville sensed that this was the end of the conversation and quickly disappeared around the corner, so he wouldn’t be caught spying. He was angry and sad about the warning Oliver’s mother had uttered, but he also knew that she was right. The last thing he wanted, was to drag Oliver into the mess he was. He leaned against the wall and tried to collect himself, so he could face Oliver, without him noticing that he had overheard the whole conversation.  
Oliver smiled warily at him, when he came into the room, that happened to be Oliver’s old one, still with all the Quidditch posters, plastering every centimetre of the wall.  
“Where have you been?” he asked him.  
“Just in the bathroom. Why, did you miss me already?” he used a light-hearted tone and smiled brightly.  
Oliver caught him around his waist and pulled him into his lap.  
“Rather!” Oliver said, kissing his neck.

 

In the middle of the night, Oliver was woken, by the quiet clapping of the door. Still half asleep, he felt for Neville’s warm body beside him, but there was only emptiness, quickly getting cold.  
‘Maybe he had to go to the bathroom.’ He thought.  
But after ten minutes had passed, and Neville still was not back, Oliver left the warmth of the bed to go and look for him.  
He quickly made sure that Neville indeed was not in the bathroom. He tied to be as quiet as possible as he tiptoed down the stairs, heading to the kitchen. This wouldn’t be the first time, he would find Neville there, in the middle of the night, fighting a war with himself.  
He was irritated, when he found the kitchen empty. Where else could he be? He shivered, it was damn cold down here. Too cold. The door that led into the small herb garden only was ajar.  
Neville was standing outside, shivering in his short sleeved T-Shirt and thin pyjama pants.  
“Darling?” Oliver called softly, not wanting to startle him. “What are you doing?”  
Neville turned around and smiled at him.  
But it did nothing to put Oliver at ease, as he noticed that Neville was not wearing shoes. He was standing barefoot in the ankle-deep snow.  
“Are you mental? Come inside.” He said louder than he wanted to.  
He could positively hear Neville’s teeth chatter.  
Neville somehow reluctantly turned his back to the nocturnal garden, covered in snow, and walked back to the house.  
Oliver wordlessly looked at Neville’s red, raw looking feet and wrapped his arms around Neville’s shivering frame.  
“How long have you been out there?” he whispered and when he didn’t got an answer he added: “it’s at least minus five degrees.”  
“I was just clearing my head.” Neville answered.  
“And for that you have to freeze yourself to death?” Oliver retorted disapprovingly.  
“Come on, lets go to bed. Otherwise you’ll be sick in the morning.”  
When they were lying side by side again, Neville’s skin still ice cold, even after Oliver had tried to rub him warm again, Neville whispered:  
“I’ve heard what your mother said.” He continued when Oliver stayed silent, “About me dragging you into my problems. She’s right, you know. I shouldn’t be so selfish and just let you go.” His voice cracked at the end of the sentence.  
He could feel that Oliver was shaking his head next to him.  
“Don’t say that please. You know that I love you, I love you so much. I can’t bare the thought of us not being together.” it sounded as Oliver was close to crying.  
“I love you, no matter what. Promise me you wont leave.” He sounded desperate.  
Neville nodded softly. “I wont leave, I promise.”  
They stayed silent and Neville thought, that Oliver had fallen asleep when he felt his fingertips moving around the contours of his face.  
“What would you say, if we would spend some days at the beach?” he asked.  
“Now? It’s winter.”  
“I love the sea in winter, don’t you?”  
“I’ve never been to the sea.” Neville answered.  
“You’ll love it.” Oliver promised him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, that it took me so long to post another chapter, Uni is quite demanding this time of year.  
> As always, I would love to know what you think about this story. I would appreciate if you took a moment of your time to share your opinion.  
> I'm sorry that I made Neville's grandmother a bitch, but I always felt that she was putting to much pressure on him. And somehow I missed that he was supposed to be blonde, anyway, I don't think it will make a difference, as J.K Rowling wouldn't be happy anyway, if she knew what fan fiction writers were doing with her Charakters.  
> And I know that my role allocation is very old fashioned, but it's also in HP, so I don't feel comfortable breaking it too much.
> 
> Thank you for reading, hope you enjoy it.


	12. The beach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short, sweet chapter, to spare them a bit.  
> I hope you like it.  
> I would love to hear your opinion, so please leave comments.

The little beach house was cold when they walked in. Standing just above the shore, nearly all windows were facing the waterline. Heavy wind was lashing the marram grass back and forth, that grew right beside the veranda, producing silvery green waves.  
Neville instantly loved the house, the desert beach and the piercing cry of the seagulls. He felt that the world was wide, in this tiny fishing village.  
Oliver lit the fire in the open fireplace with a spell and soon a pleasant warmth pushed the winter temperatures out of the house.  
Everything was grey, the sand of the beach, the water and the sky, even the shells and the few birds, fighting against the wind, were grey. Most people would have found it depressing, but Neville was filled with a calmness, he had not often experienced.  
“Do you like it?” Oliver asked hopefully and Neville thought, that he had never been this genuine before when he said yes.  
Oliver smiled happily, while flopping down in front of the fireplace, leaning his head against the sofa cushions.  
“We have to buy some things to eat, I think all the other stuff is in stock.” He told Neville.  
Neville nodded, he was not bothered as usual when they had to shop for food, this time he was curious how a village would look, that seemed to be frozen in time.  
After they had brought the shopping in and put it at its appropriate places, Oliver suggested a walk on the beach.  
The sand was frozen and resisted shortly under their feet, before breaking and rippling away under their weight. They walked hand in hand, something they didn’t do often as they were not displaying their relationship in public.  
Neville had never been to the beach and was fascinated by the force of nature, moving the water masses in a violent, angry way. He could have watched for hours, but Oliver insisted on going back, because he was cold.  
On the way back, high spirits were overpowering Neville, and he raced Oliver back to the door of their little shelter, of course loosing pitifully against a trained Quidditch player.  
Oliver, who had been worried the last few days again, congratulated himself on his idea to take Neville to this place. When he saw him laugh like this, it was easier to pretend that everything was all right.

That night, they made love in front of the fireplace and Oliver understood the term “making love” for the first time in his life, as he had never been touched so deeply and slow, that he would describe it at almost hurting.  
He suddenly was so sure that he loved Neville with everything he was, that he nearly started to cry. Neville, on the other hand seemed to be in some kind of trance and was oblivious to Oliver’s emotional catharsis.  
When Oliver woke up the next day, in the small bedroom, that had been furnished in a style that was typical for the coast; bright colors, that ranged from white to sand, he was alone. He hated to wake up to a deserted bed, because he never knew what Neville was up to. It could mean it was a good day, where he was greeted with breakfast and an up beat mood, but it could also mean, that Neville was in a dark place, keeping Oliver at distance.  
But this time there was a note, saying that he had gone to buy some fresh bread, and Oliver let out a relived sigh, a note was a good sign.  
He got up, and when he looked out of the kitchen window, he saw Neville standing by the water, dressed in his heavy cloak, that was billowing around him and his old Hogwarts scarf, whose ends were flagging loosely in the wind. He was laughing and made strange movements with his right hand and Oliver had to squint his eyes to see, that he was apparently feeding the seagulls with the bread he had bought.  
Oliver hummed quietly when he put the kettle on and lazily set the table for breakfast with magic.  
The water was just beginning to boil and the kettle whistled in a high pinched tone, when Neville stumbled through the door, nearly tripping over Oliver's boots. Oliver came to take the baguette from him and laughed at Neville's windswept hair and at his glowing nose and cheeks, that were reddened from the cold.  
For revenge Neville sneaked up from behind and put his freezing hands under Oliver's sweater, what made the later jump in shock. After that, the two were tussling like little boys, until they were both out of breath.  
Oliver caught himself hoping, that these days would never end, but of course they did.  
Neville was sad, when they had to go back to London again, but he had to go back to work. Oliver too, only had a few days left, before training would start again.  
Oliver rested his chin on Neville's shoulder, after they had magically locked the house up again.  
“We can spent the weekend here, if you want to.” He tried to comfort Neville, who only hummed. He couldn't see them coming back soon, as the Quidditch matches mostly were on weekends and on top of that, the finals of his last training year were lying ahead of him.  
But it was a nice thought, that they always could return to a place that seemed to melt away the dullness of everyday life so easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this chapter there's a song again: deus-one thing about waves


	13. The game

The moment an outcry was going through the crowd, Neville's whole body went cold. Oliver had been hit by a bludger, right into the face and now slowly was loosing his balance. Headfirst he was sliding from his broom. The two chasers caught him before he could fall. Holding him between them, one arm around his shoulders, the other around his waist, they brought him down to the ground safely. But it looked like he had lost conciousness anyway. Neville, who had witnessed all of it in a shocked rigor, was suddenly out of his seat with a stifled cry. He had to get to Oliver. Susan, who sat beside him and had been equally shocked, grabbed his sleeve.  
“Wait Neville, I’m coming with you.” She shouted, to make herself heard in the noise of the stadium. “They don't know you, they won't let you in.” She explained, meaning the locker rooms.  
Neville nodded and together they were cleaving their way down to the pitch.  
“Let us inn!” Susan hissed, when she repeated her demand for the second time to the wizard, who was standing with crossed arms in front of the entrance to the changing room.  
“I know you,” he said, pointing his thumb at her, “but I don't know him.” He stated.  
“He's Oliver Woods boyfriend. He wants to see if he's alright.” Susan elaborated the situation further. “Please Bromley, I vouch for him.”  
Bromley only raised his eyebrows, but stepped aside. The room was empty except for two men in lime green robes. Neville felt the panic rise even higher.  
“Where is he?” his voice was choking.  
“Mr. Wood?” The healer asked. “He's already in St. Mugos.” He told Neville.  
Neville felt, as if the man in front of him had hit him in the stomach with his fist.  
“What?”  
Susan interfered, before Neville could panic further.  
“How bad is it?” She asked.  
“Not too bad,” the healer sounded unconcerned, “broken nose and jaw, probably a concussion. Nothing that couldn't be fixed.” He smiled contently.  
“Can we see him?” Susan asked, holding Neville's hand in a thought grip.  
The healer nodded. “Sure, he's at the…” more Neville couldn't hear, as Susan had them disapperated, landing in the right floor.  
“I thought you would appreciate to come here the fastest way possible. As a healer myself, I can apperate directly.” She explained. Neville wasn't really listening. He was looking for Oliver. He spotted him in the bed at the end of the corridor. Two healers were turning away from the bed that very moment and were coming towards them.  
“Are you here for Mr. Wood? The female healer asked, nodding a hello to Susan. Susan nodded. Expectantly the healer looked to Neville, who didn't know what she wanted from him.  
“Oh, this is Neville Longbottom, Rainy, he's Mr. Woods partner.” Susan introduced him.  
Rainy smiled tiredly at Neville and wiped a strand of blond hair out of her eyes. “Don't worry Mr. Longbottom, he’ll be alright again. We could fix his jaw without a problem and his nose too. It's only a light concussion, he just needs to rest a few days. But his nose was broken twice, we were not able to fully straighten it again, I'm afraid a bump will stay behind. She told him in her soft voice, that fitted the somber atmosphere of the hospital perfectly.  
She sighed and shook her head. “Quidditch players,” she mumbled, “I can't comprehend how you can be married to one, Sue. I would be sick with worry all the time.”  
Susan shrugged her shoulders. “Well, love’s a funny thing, isn't it?” She said with a small smile.  
“Would it be possible to see Oliver now?” Neville interrupted them.  
“Of course, sorry.” Rainy smiled apologizing, “Follow me, he will wake up any minute now.”  
All three of them hurried over to the bed Oliver was in. Susan stayed behind a bit, to give Neville a few private moments. Rainy smoothed out the bedsheets one more time, before she nodded to Neville and said goodbye to Susan. Neville took Oliver's hand. He looked mostly like always, but as the healer had told him, his nose was not straight anymore, but had a small bump. Neville carefully explored it with his fingertips. Oliver slowly opened his eyes and when he had focused enough he smiled up at Neville.  
“Hey, darling.” Neville said softly.  
“Hey.” Oliver replied. “What happened?” He looked around.  
“You got hit by a bludger, nearly fell from your broom.” Neville told him.  
“Who won?” Was Oliver's next question, but Neville didn't know.  
Susan approached the bed from the other side and smiled down at Wood. “Good to know, you got your priorities right.” She mocked. “The puddelmeres won. Mara caught the snitch, just a minute after you got hit.”  
“That's good.” Oliver looked rather pleased and Susan laughed. Neville had been too upset about Oliver's accident, to notice anything around him, especially not what was going on on the pitch.  
“Now that I know that you are alright, I’ll go back to them, they’ll be waiting for news on you.” She said, Oliver nodded in agreement.  
“Are you going to be alright?” She asked Neville gently.  
“Yes, thanks for your help, Sue.” Neville said sincerely.  
Susan waved one last time and disappeared with a quiet plop.  
“How bad is it?” Oliver asked when they were alone.  
“It could have been worse. Broken jaw and a broken nose and a light concussion.”  
Oliver sighed relieved. “So they could fix everything without a problem and I won't be suspended.”  
“No, just bed rest a few days.” Neville confirmed. “But they couldn't fix your nose fully, because it was broken on two places, so now you have a bump.”  
“On my nose?” Oliver asked, while he lifted his hands to explore his nose.  
“Does it look bad?” He asked Neville, while running his fingers over it.  
But Neville shook his head. “No, actually it doesn't look bad. A bit more laddish, if you ask me.” He told him.  
Oliver was grinning impishly. “Well, I wouldn't be a proper keeper without a smashed in face, would I?”  
Neville decided not to voice, that he preferred if these accidents wouldn't happen at all, but he was pretty sure Oliver knew that he was worried and he would beware to nag about Oliver's profession and passion. So he just clicked his tongue disapprovingly and Oliver laughed at that. 

Neville was hunched over his books, it was already late, but he had to get this stuff into his head until the next day.  
“Come on Nev, leave well alone, it’s late.” Oliver came over and leaned his hip on the desk,next to where Neville was working, massaging his boyfriend's tensed neck and shoulders.  
“But I have to have memorized this by tomorrow” He protested.  
“You already know everything that's in there. When I asked you earlier you answered every question correctly.”  
“Yeah, but..” Neville tried halfhearted, but Oliver didn't let him finish.  
“I saw you yawn at least five times in the last two minutes.”  
Oliver bended over Neville's neck and started to kiss him playfully.  
“What would you say if I would help you to relax a bit. Take you mind off of things.”  
Neville sighed, closed his books and wrapped his arms around Oliver's neck.  
“What would you suggest?” He responded to Oliver's playful tone.  
“Oh well, there are several options here." Oliver winked and begann to strip slowly, making sure that Neville was watching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to hear what you think, so don't be shy and leave a comment. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy it!


	14. Serious talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Discussion of self-harm

As Neville’s finals were coming closer, Oliver had a hard time dealing with Neville’s unpredictable moods. More often than not, their conversations turned into a fight at some point and usually ended with slammed doors and half an hour of the silent treatment, before one of them apologized.  
Oliver hated that his main feeling towards Neville was worry, even when they were having sex he couldn’t help himself than to move his hands over his boyfriend’s body, trying to detect whether he had lost weight or not. When he normally would have closed his eyes and relished Neville’s warm skin, he now looked for the bruises and the small cuts and scraps appearing and disappearing on his ivory flesh. Whenever he asked about them, as parenthetically as possible, Neville only laughed and blamed his clumsiness. Oliver would only nod and kept silent. He had no words to persuade it further, he knew this was not the whole truth, but like that it was easier to ignore. If they both pretended that everything was alright, maybe it would be in time. 

Oliver was humming happily, while he was preparing the meat, because he had been able to unglue Neville from his books and he was standing next to him chopping up vegetables. He examined Neville's work.  
“Just a little bit smaller, darling.” He said and kissed Neville's cheek. Neville on the other hand, was not as half content as Oliver, to be helping out in the kitchen. He huffed.  
“You know that I have better things to do, then to chop vegetables.” He said accusingly.  
“You think you have better things to do.” Oliver retorted, not the slightest bit taken aback by Neville's quarrelsome air. “You need to take a break, love. I'm giving you a reason to take one.”  
“How very generous of you.” Neville said cranky.  
Oliver rolled his eyes and returned to preparing the meat to go in the oven. He turned around when he heard a quiet “Ow fuck!” and the clatter of the knife hitting the floor. Neville stood there with his left index finger in his mouth.  
“Did you cut yourself?” Oliver asked and extended his hand when Neville nodded. “Let me see.” He said softly.  
It was a small cut, but steadily oozing blood.  
“Come here, put it under water.” He ushered Neville to the sink and held the finger under cold water.  
Then he went to fetch the dittany. He leant over the kitchen counter to apply to dittany to Neville's finger. It instantly stopped bleeding and scraped over. Neville had placed his hands next to each other on the counter and Oliver saw it only because he was leaning in closely, the faint bruises around the knuckles of Neville's right hand. Just the lightest dash of violet and yellow blending in with the skin tone of his dry hands. The first layer of skin was scraped too. Like he had hit something, just not as hard enough to break the skin fully.  
“What's this?” Oliver asked without thinking.  
Sure enough Neville looked down at his hand.  
„Oh that,” he said lightly, “Nothing, just a pot fell on my hand on Friday, I told you about it.”  
Oliver squinted his eyes in distrust. “No, you didn't.” He said slowly.  
“What got your knickers in a twist all of the sudden?” Neville asked, confused by the grave expression on Oliver's face.  
Oliver stayed silent and just continued to scrutinize him intensely. Neville started to feel uncomfortable.  
“Ollie?” He asked a bit insecure.  
Finally, Oliver spoke again, his voice sounded low and serious. “Did you do it on purpose?”  
When Neville didn't answer and only starred at him blankly, Oliver repeated his question, pronouncing every word.  
“Did you hurt yourself on purpose?”  
Suddenly Neville jerked his hands away, as if Oliver's skin, where his hands were lightly touching Neville's hands, were burning him.  
Furious he glared at him.  
“What?” He whispered.  
Oliver watched him cautiously.  
“What?” He asked again, but this time he was yelling.  
“It wouldn't be the first time.” Oliver said quietly, looking down at his hands. Then he looked up, searching for Neville's eyes. “And I know you're stressed, and…” he was lost for words.  
Neville was fuming. “How dare you?” He was breathing heavily. “How dare you!” He said again.  
Oliver had risen his voice as well as he tried to explain why he was worried so much. “Nev, please calm down. I'm not accusing you of anything. I just want to know if you are okay, but you don't seem to be.”  
Neville murmured “I’m fine”, but didn't looked very convincing, with his crossed arms and downcast eyes.  
Oliver extended his hand towards Neville, but the latter ignored the gesture and remained distant, with his arms crossed.  
Oliver sighed and took his hand back, to rub his temple. “All these little injuries… those small cuts and scraps and bruises, you are not that clumsy, are you now?”  
Oliver waited for Neville to say something, anything; but he didn't.  
“Please, Baby, talk to me. It’s alright, I understand.” He tried.  
Neville came closer again, “You know what? It’s not alright. And clearly you don’t understand anything. Who do you think you are?” he spat in Oliver’s face, before he stalked out of the kitchen, leaving Oliver alone in the chaos around him.  
Hot anger was welling up in Oliver’s gut and he had to restrain himself from smashing his hand into the innocent, grey kitchen tiles. But that could probably lead to a broken hand and he could not heal broken bones by himself. He couldn’t afford any lasting damage, he needed his hands for Quidditch. So he only took several deep breaths. With more force than necessaire, he sent the knife to finish Neville’s work by itself, while he tried to calm himself with the comforting familiarity of routine.  
He wondered, if this relationship really was worth all of this emotional hurt.

An hour later, he brought a cup of tea in the living room, to give it to Neville, who was sitting casually on the couch, reading in one of his books.  
He looked up, when Oliver sat down next to him and smiled at the tea Oliver handed him.  
“Thanks.”  
“You’re welcome, love.” Oliver tentatively smiled back. “I came to apologize. I know I shouldn’t have said anything, and I’m sorry.”  
Neville sighed and placed his mug on the coffee table next to him.  
“Don’t be.” He held Oliver’s gaze, “Because you’re right.”  
“What?” Oliver was confused, this was the last thing he had expected.  
Neville looked away and studied his clean scrubbed fingernails.  
“What are you saying?” Oliver asked again. “that you are really hurting yourself on purpose?”  
Neville shook his head, “It’s not that I hurt myself actively, it’s more like I’m purposely reckless. I do things, that I know will have the potential to hurt me.” Neville said, as if this was something totally normal.  
“Like not being careful with knifes?”  
“No, this one was an accident, really.” He said ingenuously.  
Oliver thought about what Neville just told him and suddenly he remembered all these situations where Neville had been reckless, or just downright stupid.  
“Like picking fights with guys two times bigger than you? Like walking out in the snow without shoes on?” Things were falling into place.  
Neville said nothing, only locked his eyes with Oliver’s.  
“Touching the kettle, when you know it’s still hot? Going hungry all day?” Oliver sounded upset now.  
Neville put his hand on Oliver’s arm. “Don’t get mad, please?”  
Oliver took Neville’s hand and intervened their fingers. “I’m not mad, it’s just… you have to give me some time here, to understand it fully.”

They sat in silence for a while. Then Oliver clears his throat, “Is there any way you could stop doing this?” he asked hopefully.  
But Neville only shrugged his shoulders. “Most of the times, I don’t even think about it, I just do it, you know, I don’t see how I could stop that.”  
“But you’ve done it more frequently, haven’t you?” Oliver searches for something in Neville’s face, a confirm maybe.  
“Otherwise I wouldn’t have noticed, would I?”  
Neville shifted his weight uncomfortably, “Yeah, maybe.” He agreed. “I’m stressed; I need it more when I’m stressed.”  
Oliver frowned, “Maybe we should see a healer, get some help.”  
Neville shook his head vehemently. “No healers. And I don’t need help, Ollie. Look, it’s just minor injuries, mostly not even that. It’s alright, I got it under control.” He smiled at him reassuringly, but Oliver was not convinced.  
“I wouldn’t call that control, exactly. What if some day, this isn’t enough anymore and you do more drastic things?”  
“Like, top myself?” Neville asked, “You know I wouldn’t do that.”  
“Actually, I don’t know Neville, how am I suppose to know what’s going on with you, if you don’t fucking talk to me?” Oliver answered angrily. “Please let me help you.” He pleaded.  
He thought for a while, then he offered, blushing, what he was thinking about. “The day I spanked you, it helped, didn't it?” he asked.  
Neville nodded and smiled a bit. “I don't understand, were you are seeing the difference in me getting hurt by you, or me hurting myself.” He pointed out.  
Oliver didn’t know either, he only knew, that the thought of him, spanking his boyfriend occasionally, was not as frightening as the thought of Neville deliberately getting himself into dangerous situations.  
“Maybe it only helps me, but I rather be a part of it and know what you're up to, than being left in the dark.” He said.  
Oliver was not sure that this conversation was really taking place in their sunlit living room, it felt so unreal to him.  
“Well, we could try.” Neville agreed finally.

Two days later, when Oliver came home from training, he found Neville kneeling in front of their bed, naked.  
“Do you need me to...?“ he asked softly and Neville only nodded. Oliver bended over him to give him a chaste kiss on his left shoulder.  
“I’ll be there in a minute, love. I just go to wash my hands, alright?”  
Neville nodded again.  
“Think about what safeword you want to use.” He told him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are highly appreciated.  
> I'm uploading it a bit unedited, hope it's fairly alright. But I'm going to edit it a bit later properly.  
> Let me know if you are enjoying it.


	15. I can't do this anymore

"Dinner’s ready.” Oliver called, but he got no response. So he walked over to the table were Neville fiercely was taking notes, both his hands strained with ink. Oliver buried his hands in Neville's hair and gently massaged his scalp. Neville closed his eyes and leaned into his touch.  
“Still got a headache?” He asked sympathetically. Neville nodded.  
“Eating might help. Did you drink enough?”  
“Stop babying me.” Neville said tiredly.  
“Close your books, love.” Oliver commanded, but Neville refused.  
“I have to finish this. When I'm done, I can eat.” He protested.  
“This is absolute and utter nonsense, Neville.” Oliver said disapprovingly, “you can eat first and finish this stuff afterwards. Eating shouldn't be a reward you have to earn, it's something you just need to do.”  
“Just let my finish that, I’ll eat afterwards.” Neville said stubbornly and turned to his notes again.  
“Fine,” Oliver threw his hands in the air in a frustrated gesture, “do what you want, but let me tell you, if you go on like that, you’ll not have enough strength to actually take these exams.”  
Oliver disappeared into the kitchen, to eat alone. 

That night Neville couldn’t sleep and turned and tossed around. He was so so tired, but whenever he closed his eyes, he felt the darkness was getting to heavy, suffocating him.  
The moment he gave up on sleeping and placed his feet on the hardwood floor, he knew that he had lost the battle with himself.  
Like on Autopilot he walked into the kitchen. There was no hesitation this time, when he scoffed down everything he could get his hands on. And he didn’t hesitate, when he finally sank down on his knees, in front of the toilet.  
Only when he was done and the weak, shaky feeling crept into his body, he leaned back and thought about it.  
“Are you done?” Oliver’s voice made him wince with guilt; how long had he been standing there, watching?  
Oliver’s question should have sounded accusing, but it didn’t. It only was a simple question, with so much exhaustion and tiredness in Oliver’s voice, it not even startled Neville.  
He turned his head to look at him. Oliver was leaning at the doorframe, looking still half asleep, with puffy eyes and wrinkled clothes. Neville nodded and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, before he attempted to get up from his uncomfortable position.  
“Stay,” Oliver said quietly, “I’ll be back in a sec.”  
Neville sank back down on his heels, not having the strength to question Oliver.  
Oliver came back with his wand and water. He transfigured a stool by the sink and sat the water down, then he stepped behind Neville and helped him up. He guided him to the stool, to sit down.  
“Why didn’t you wake me?” Oliver asked, sounding sad and resigned.  
Neville stared down at Oliver’s bare feet. They looked so familiar, the hem of his pyjama pants brushing on his instep. The dark green tartan pattern, he knew so well; he had touched them a thousand times, as well as he had touched Oliver’s smooth, tanned skin underneath. He still smelled like sleep, warm and musky and Neville wished he could lean his tired head on Oliver’s broad chest and imbibed his warmth, something that seemed to be amiss in his body and mind. Everything felt so cold. He shivered.

“Its alright, you don’t have to be ashamed.” Oliver said softly, lifting his chin up, so he would look him in the eyes.  
Oliver turned to dampen a new toothbrush, putting ‘Belinda’s bewitching smile, with twelve magical plants’ toothpaste on it.  
Carefully, not to hurt Neville’s inflamed gums further, he brushed his teeth. Neville closed his eyes, partly because he was worn out, partly out of embarrassment and also because a small part of him relished the care Oliver gave him.  
When he was done, Oliver made him spit the toothpaste out and afterwards he urged him to drink the water, he had brought.  
“Do you want to take a shower?”  
“Yeah.”  
Oliver turned the shower on and waited for Neville to undress himself fully.  
“would you shower with me?” Neville asked shyly.  
Oliver nodded and undressed himself too, mirroring his actions from the first night he had found his boyfriend in this particular state, over six moths ago.  
When they finally were lying in bed again, Neville pressed himself close to Oliver, and the latter wrapped his arms protectively around him. Neville fell asleep fast, but Oliver was staring into the dark, listening to Neville’s regular breathing. 

Oliver woke up to a soft rustle of clothes next to him, he turned his head to see Neville was getting dressed.  
“What are you doing?” he questioned him.  
Neville stopped to button up his shirt and looked at him.  
“I’m getting ready for work, of course.”  
Oliver sat up in bed and patted the spot next to him. To his surprise, Neville sighed and sat down.  
“Don’t you think you should stay at home?” He paused and then carefully added, “after what happened last night?”  
Neville sighed again. “I have to go to work.”  
“I could go into the lobby and firecall you boss.” Oliver offered.  
But Neville shook his head. “No, please Ollie, I have to go, finals are in a month.”  
“you should rest.”  
“I’m alright, don’t worry.”  
Oliver huffed, but gave in. “But I’m not letting you go, before you eat something!”  
“Of course.” Neville said softly and kissed Oliver’s cheek. 

When Oliver came home later that day, Neville was asleep on the couch, his book had fallen face down to the floor.  
Oliver’s stomach twisted uncomfortably with worry, when he saw Neville so worn out. His skin was pale and looked stretched thin around his mouth, his lips were dry and cracked. Oliver could see the light blue blood vessels more prominent then ever under his skin. He looked sick, there was no denying in it.  
“Hey.” Oliver shook Neville’s shoulder gently, to wake him up. Neville startled and drowsily wiped away the drool with the back of his hand.  
“Hey you,” Neville smiled tiredly, “I fell asleep. I’m so tired.” He complained, sitting up.  
“I bet you are,” Oliver said quietly, while he bended down to pick up the book and place it on the coffee table.  
“Fancy a brew?” he asked.  
“Yeah, sure.” Neville nodded, yawning.  
“I’m going to prepare tea.” Oliver announced.  
“Want any help?” Neville offered.  
Oliver shook his head, “You just rest. I’ll bring your tea in a minute.”

Seeing Neville just picking on his food again made Oliver angry. He tried to push it down, but it had grown to something that seemed to have a living of it’s own.  
“Why aren’t you eating?” he tried hard to not sound accusing, but Neville’s forced cheerful face fell anyway. He pressed his lips together.  
“I had lunch with Carlie.” He said defiant.  
Oliver raised his eyebrows, “Oh really?” he couldn’t help himself but to sound scoffing, “and what did you have?”  
Neville opened and closed his mouth helplessly, he never had been a creative liar.  
“So more like you watched her eat.” Oliver crossed his arms in front of his chest.  
“Why are you trying to lie to me?” he wanted to know.  
A blush was creeping on Neville’s pale cheeks.  
“I’m not lying!” he revolted.  
“Yes you are. All you do is lie and try to trick me.” Oliver was yelling now. He could see Neville flinch, and it made him just angrier. He was trying his best, wasn’t he?  
“You think I didn’t notice that last time I was gone, you replaced the whisky? Well, let me tell you, that you bought the wrong brand. Do you really think I don’t know that you are mostly live on pepper up portion? Do you really think, I don’t know? How stupid do you think I am?”  
Neville had gone even paler then he had been before. “Oliver, please. Stop yelling at me.”  
“And pretend everything is alright, just as always?” Oliver spat.  
“We can talk about everything when you have calmed down.” Neville replied stoically.  
“Don’t you dare to patronize me. I’m talking about it now, and I expect you to respond.”  
Neville attempted to get up and put some space between himself and Oliver. But Oliver quickly gapped his wrist to hold him in place.  
“You are not leaving, until you have finished eating.” He growled, his anger still raging.  
Neville struggled against his grip. “You are hurting me.” He yelped.  
“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” Oliver couldn’t believe he just had said that, but he was out of control now.  
Suddenly Neville was completely still and stared down at his only half cleared plate. Oliver let go of his wrist.  
“Look,..” he began but was interrupted.  
“You are making me sick.” Neville whispered and as to illustrate his words, dry heaved. He started up from his chair and ran in the direction of the bathroom, his hands pressed to his mouth. 

Oliver was following after him. Neville leaned on the wall, next to the toilet, eyes closed and with his head in his hands.  
Oliver started to walk up and down the room, to the sink and then back to the door. Neville could hardly hear what he was saying.  
Suddenly Oliver yanked at his hair, forcing Neville to look at him. Neville screamed in pain and shock. He never had been afraid of Oliver, but now he was terrified.  
“You scaring me, please, please stop that.” He pleaded.  
“I’m scaring you?” Oliver asked, still staring at Neville’s face. “I’m scaring you?” he repeated, “You have no idea how much you are scaring me, have you?” his voice cracked and Neville could see tears streaming down his face.  
“I’m sorry Nev, but I can’t do this anymore.” He let go of Neville’s hair and clenched his fist. Neville thought he would hit him and shielded his face with his arm, but Oliver aimed for the tiles next to his head.  
It cracked, when Oliver's fist collided with the porcelain. Three times he punched the wall. With every punch he repeated “I can’t do this,” over and over again. Finally, he turned around and left.  
Neville sank to the floor, when he heard the front door slam, and for the first time in ages, Neville wished he could just die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oliver has been a saint for so long, but now he has reached the point, where it's all too much for him. I hope this scene is just as intense for my readers, as I've imagined it in my head.
> 
> I would love to hear your opinion, so please, dear reader spare a bit of your time to review. 
> 
> Thank you for reading.
> 
> Ah, song for this one would be Kiss off by the Violent Femmes. All time favorite!


	16. Where to?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a very short chapter, next one will be longer, but I thought I write and update while I have a bit of time. Hope you enjoy it. Comments and kudos are very welcome.  
> Please let me know if there are any severe grammar or spelling mistakes.

After what seemed to be hours, but probably only were minutes, Neville uncurled from his foetal position on the bathroom floor and tried to stand. He felt, as if his legs would give up on him any minute and his hands were shaking uncontrollable. He avoided to look in the mirror, because he knew that he wouldn’t like what he would see and right now, he was trying very hard to clear his hazy mind.  
He sat down on the toilet lid and breathed in and out several times. His chest ached and he really felt like crying, but he forbade himself to give in. When he felt a little steadier, he got up and made his way over to the bedroom.  
Oliver was nowhere to be seen.  
Neville pulled out his travel bag and threw in some cloths randomly. Then he carried the bag into the living room and stuffed in his books, he lost several minutes with searching for his wand, but finally found it under a pile of parchment. The door closed with a quiet click behind him, and he starred somewhat unsure down the corridor.  
He briefly wondered if Oliver had his wand with him, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to get in again, but then he shook his head to get rid of the thought. This was not his problem anymore.  
The goblin, who was operating the elevator, eyed him up suspiciously, but this was his normal expression, so Neville wasn’t worried too much.  
Outside, he wrapped his cloak tighter around himself; although spring was coming, it still was freezing. Or maybe it was just him.  
It just had stopped raining and the light from the pubs and bars he passed, were dancing colourful on the wet pavement. 

He turned to a pub left from him and peered inside. It wasn’t crowded, just a couple of serious drinkers were sitting in silence, nursing their drinks. Perfect.  
He took a seat at the free table in the corner and ordered Firewhisky. He could feel the alcohol hitting his nervous system only after the second sip; heaviness, soft as cotton wool was floating his limps, making his brain dizzy. Oliver actually was right, he needed to eat something, otherwise he would be out of it, sooner than he’d prefer. 

The salt and the vinegar from his fish and chips, mixed with the sharp alcohol, stung on his cracked lips and his raw gums were hurting like hell, but it made it easier to eat slow. After he had finished the painful process of eating, he also was done with his first glass of whisky.  
Leaning back into the comfortable threadbare armchair, every so often sipping from the amber liquid of his second drink, he thought about what he was supposed to do now.  
Preferably, he would just go home and forget all of it. He was sure, that Oliver, as soon as he had calmed down, would be terribly sorry, begging for forgiveness. But Neville did not want to forgive, not right away anyway. He too had his pride, and he would not be the one who came crawling back, whimpering like a kicked dog.  
He drowned the thought, that Oliver might have been right in some points, with the next swig of whisky. He coughed a little, thinking, that even if Oliver was right, he had no right to treat him like that. 

Still there was the problem of finding a place to stay for the night. A hotel room would be expensive, although he thought he could manage, but if he was honest with himself, he didn’t like the thought of being on his own in a cold and clinical hotel room right now.  
Going to his grandmother always was an option, but he didn’t felt like that either. She would ask questions and he could really do without her triumphant “I told you so.”  
When he had finished his third drink, an idea started to form in his head.  
Later he thought, that he must had been pretty drunk, when he made his decision to seek out Harry and Ginny and ask them for shelter.

He only had been to Grimmauld Place Nr. 12 once, when Ginny and Harry had invited some friends, to celebrate it as their permanent home; of course after they got rid of all the weird stuff and the dull ambiance.  
Now, Neville was standing on the last step, in front of the heavy, wooden door.  
It had started to rain again and Neville, who had more stumbled, than walked all the way there, was soaked to the skin. He uncoordinated slammed down the door knocker several times. Then he waited.  
Finally the door creaked open, the tip of a wand pointing at his chest.  
“It’s only me Harry,” he slurred, “Aren’t you a bit paranoid, mate?” he joked.  
“Neville?” Harry asked astonished, after he had opened the door fully.  
“Well, comes with being an Auror, eh?”  
“What are you doing here?” Harry was too perplex to invite Neville in.  
“Ah well…” Neville bit his lip in embarrassment, uncomfortably shifting the bag on his shoulder, but before he could answer, Ginny appeared behind Harry.  
“Who is it, darling?” she asked and when she recognized Neville her eyes widened in surprise.  
“Don’t let him stand there in the rain, Harry.” She scolded and Harry stepped aside to let Neville in.  
“Right, sorry Neville.” He apologized. 

“Merlin, Neville what happened?” Ginny’s voice was so worried, that Neville started to cry.  
“Oliver and I,… we had a fight. Can I... can I stay for the night, please?”


	17. Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something went wrong while editing, so I had to delete it. Now I'm posting it anew.  
> I'm sorry!

Oliver wanted to just get out, before he did something unforgivable. Being in the elevator with this damn nosy goblin, nearly drove him crazy, he didn’t want to think now. His anger was cooling down rapidly and now only the image of Neville, looking at him in shock, with wide, fearful eyes stuck on his mind. What had he done? While the angry mist had lifted, awareness creeped back into his body and with it the realisation that his hand fucking hurt. Probably it was broken. Luckily he had his wand shoved into his left sleeve, otherwise he would have left it on his hasty escape. He took a few moments to try and calm himself down, no use into getting splinted, right? -before he apparated to St. Mungos.  
He hoped he wouldn’t meet Susan there tonight, because he knew he couldn’t talk to her right now, without breaking down. Maybe this was one of the hardest parts about this whole thing, that he had no one he could talk to. Neville didn’t want to hear that he was worried, and who else could he tell? Who would listen to him, complaining how tired he was of always being strong and reliable. He had nobody he could tell about the hate he sometimes felt towards Neville for making things unnecessary hard and complicated, and he could tell no one about the shame and the guilt he felt about thinking like that. Certainly he couldn’t tell his teammates. Susan was the only person he could imagine talking to, but she was a lot closer to Neville then she was to him, and telling her would feel like going behind Neville’s back.  
A young healer, he had never seen before, fixed his hand and he finally could relax a bit in the silent atmosphere of the hospital at night- time. It made it easier to still his thoughts and organise them.  
First of all, he had to go home and apologize to Neville, he would let it rest for a few days, but even if he knew it would provoke fighting, he had to convince his boyfriend that he needed help. Maybe he would listen this time. 

His heart was fluttering in his chest, like a tiny scarred bird, when he was greeted with silence and darkness at home. Neville was gone, the bedroom-floor littered with clothes and the missing books made it obvious. Neville was gone. And all Oliver had left to do, was to sink to his knees and cry. 

Maybe it was the smell of coffee that woke him, or the unfamiliar noises of creaking doors and floorboards. Oliver’s and his flat usually was a much quieter place. His head hurt, but still he wished he had drunk more yesterday, he could remember all that had happened crystal clear and he wished he wouldn’t. He turned around, trying to once again seek forgetfulness in sleep, but couldn’t.  
Begrudgingly he got up and looked at the things, Ginny so thoughtfully had placed on the drawer the night before.  
A toothbrush and some towels. He looked down on himself, he had slept in his cloths from the night before, now they were wrinkled and the smell of alcohol and smoke was clinging to them.  
Sighing, he carefully opened the door and peeked down the corridor, he rather not met anyone looking like this. He pulled some clean clothes out of his bag and rushed into the bathroom at the end of the corridor.  
When he came into the kitchen, Ginny and Harry were already halfway through their breakfast.  
Harry, who sat facing the door, smiled at him.  
“Morning Neville.”  
“Morning.” Neville replied as friendly as it was possible with that splitting headache he had.  
Ginny turned around and smiled as well, and Neville, as always was impressed by her beauty.  
“We thought we would let you sleep in. How are you feeling?” she asked softly.  
Neville took the seat on top of the table between Harry and Ginny.  
“Not so good. You don’t have any hangover portion, do you?” he groaned.  
Ginny shook her head, “No, I’m sorry. But Harry wanted to meet Ron in the shop later, he can bring some back for you.”  
‘Of course Mr. and Mrs. perfect wouldn’t have any hangover cure.’ he thought maliciously, but out loud he said: “That would be nice, thank you.”  
When had he started to dislike all the people around him? “Would you like some coffee?” Harry pushed the pot into Neville’s direction. Normally Neville only drank tea, but maybe the caffeine would do him some good. Ginny filled a cup for Neville and handed him a plate with a piece of buttered toast on it. Now Neville’s plan, only to drink coffee, lapsed. If one could apperate only by wishing, he was sure he would be long gone by now.  
He picked up the bread and nibbled on it.  
“You should try this marmalade,” she showed him a large glass with what seemed to be orange marmalade, “my Mum made it, it’s delicious.”  
Neville shook his head, “I don’t like sweet things.” He averred.  
“Oh,” Harry smiled, “that’s new, I remember you to have a sweet tooth. Back in Hogwarts you used to eat so much toffee pudding that you got sick afterwards, remember?”  
Neville blushed, how well he remembered that night… “Yeah, well things change.” He said curtly and Harry instantly stopped smiling and frowned, confused about his tone.  
“What would you like to do, Neville?” Ginny asked friendly, to lighten the mood. “We thought we would go to the shop later, Ron and George will be there, and maybe Hermione too. They would be thrilled to see you again.”  
“I’m sorry Ginny, I can’t.” he rejected. “I need to study. Is there any desk that I could use?”  
“You can use the desk in the library, I’m going to make you some space there. I’ll show it to you.” Harry said and rose from his chair. Neville’s hand, unsure to leave Ginny alone with the dishes, hovered over his plate. Ginny once again smiled brightly at him.  
“Don’t worry, I’ll do the dishes, you just go with Harry.”  
Leaving his half eaten toast on the plate, he followed Harry into the next room. 

Oliver had spent a sleepless night, starring down at the city, but now he was so tired out, that he couldn’t hold his eyes open much longer. He curled up on the couch, draping the thin wool blanked over him. Shortly he thought it smelled like Neville, but maybe he was just imagining things. Then he fell asleep. 

“No, I’ll stay here.” Neville heard Ginny say, when he came back down. “I don’t think he’s in a good place right know.”  
They were talking about him, Neville realised. But it was his own fault, he was tiptoeing around the house, as if he was a burglar, he didn’t feel comfortable with the way the floorboards were creaking, when he stepped on them normally.  
“He looks sick, doesn’t he?” Harry sounded concerned.  
Neville thought about walking up the stairs again or to stomp a bit, but then he didn’t, and just listened to his friends talking about him.  
“Could be the hangover, he was pretty drunk last night, but I don’t know… He’s so thin.” Ginny replied.  
“Maybe you can find out what happened between him and Oliver.” Harry said, his voice coming nearer.  
Quickly, Neville stomped down the last steps and nearly bumped into Harry, coming out of the living room.  
“Hey mate, I’m on my way to Diagon Alley, you sure you don’t want to come?” Harry offered again.  
But Neville just smiled as sweetly as he could and lifted the books in his arms, to show them to Harry.  
“I got so much to do, Harry, but I’ll come when my finals are over, I would love to see Ron and Hermione again.” He assured Harry, even if the last thing he wanted to do, was to meet more people, who would be talking behind his back.  
“Alright, they would love to see you too.” Somehow Harrys voice sounded strange, as if he was uncomfortable. “If you need something just ask Ginny.”

Neville had a hard time, concentrating on his work. His thoughts were always going back to Oliver and the fight they had.  
Would this mean they were over? Neville didn’t want them to be over. He loved Oliver and he was quite sure that Oliver loved him back. Of course it had not been perfect, but which relationship was? Was this all his fault? But how to fix this now?

Around noon, Ginny brought in a tray with tea and sandwiches.  
“Saturdays we usually eat something small for lunch and then a proper dinner. I hope that’s alright with you?” she said, shyer or more insecure than Neville had ever seen her. He guessed that she was about to ask her questions and didn’t know how to start.  
He forced himself to smile at her.  
“It’s so nice of both of you, to take me in,” he said softly. “I promise it wont be for long, just until I sort a few things out.”  
Ginny nervously combed her hair with her fingers, before she twirled it up into a messy bun. “Don’t be silly, we love to have you here.” She purred the tea into a mug and gave it to Neville.  
“If you don’t mind me asking…” she began and Neville tilted his head to notify that he didn’t mind her asking. Of course he did, but luckily he knew what she was going to ask and he had prepared what he was going to tell her.  
“What happened between you and Oliver?”  
“Well, he was angry, that I have to study so much, and don’t have time for him, “he lied, “this has been an issue for a few weeks now and yesterday, he yelled at me, said some pretty mean things…that I was selfish and stuff…” he swallowed, the bad conscience forming a lump in his throat.  
Ginny stepped closer to enfold him in her arms. He breathed in her fresh, flowery scent and his stomach turned in disgust. He did not deserve to be comforted, he did not deserve to have supportive friends, he was lying, couldn’t she see that he was lying? He pushed against her slightly and she let go of him reluctantly.  
“He had no right to be angry with you, you did the right thing, you know.” She said fiercely.  
He frowned. “You think?”  
“You are the least selfish person I know, Neville, I’m proud that you stood up to him.” She reassured him.  
Neville blushed ashamed, “Yeah, but how do I fix this again?”  
Ginny shook her head, “It’s not at you to fix this, he has to apologize to you. You are right, he’s wrong.” She was very certain.  
Neville couldn’t stand to look at her earnest face any longer, he cleared his throat.  
“Could you… I need some time alone, please?” he asked her.  
“Sure,” she said and pressed an amicable kiss on his hair, before she left the room.  
Neville starred down at the sandwiches she had left for him to eat. He couldn’t, he didn’t deserve to eat, he needed to feel the pain, gnawing at his stomach. He knew that this was the problem, that had led to Oliver and his fallout, and he wished he could just eat them, and make the problem go away. Instead he held his hand into the flame of the candle in front of him. Punishment for all the lies he had told.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm writing this instead of studying for my italian test. Talking about procrastination...  
> I would love to get some comments for this one, because I don't think my italian teacher will be impressed with me...  
> I bet there are a lot of people out there, who are reading or writing Fanfiction rather than working; well, this one's for you!
> 
> Please leave kudos or a comment to let me know if you liked it, or and that's even more important why you probably don't like it. 
> 
> Thank you for reading; I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Btw, there are only two or three chapters left, so this story is coming to an end...


	18. I love you

“Wood! Down there, now!” Cassidy yelled and both of them dived down to earth.  
“What in Merlin’s name are you doing?” the teamcaptain was upset, “Are you trying to get killed?”  
Oliver was breathing heavily, he just managed to avoid an bludger by millimetres. He hadn’t been paying attention, his thoughts were with Neville all the time.  
“I’m sorry Mara. I was distracted.” He replied guiltily.  
“I could see that, what’s wrong?” she asked concerned.  
Oliver hesitated before answering her, “It’s private stuff. My boyfriend walked out on me this weekend, and I have no idea were he is now.” He told her.  
Mara frowned. “What do I always say, about bringing private shit to the pitch?” she asked impatiently.  
“That we shouldn’t bring our private problems to the game.” Oliver answered dutifully.  
Mara nodded, “But today you are a danger to yourself and to the others, so get out and take the day off.” Her strict voice made Oliver hang his head like a scolded child.  
“I’m sorry.”  
“It’s alright.” She huffed, mounting her broom, “And Oliver…”  
He turned around again and looked at her, she send a tiny smile his way “Fix this. I like him, he’s cute.”  
And Oliver whished it could be that easy, while he walked away from the pitch. 

Sunday he had paid a visit to Neville’s Grandmother, hoping he would be there, but the old lady hadn’t heard from her grandson since Christmas, and that was clearly Oliver’s fault.  
After this fruitless visit, he had gone home and tried to sleep, but he was to anxious. If he only knew that Neville was somewhere safe, he would have been calmer. He tried to send letters out, but Styx, his favourite owl from the house owlery brought them back.  
So he went out and spent half the night randomly walking in and out of bars, hoping to find Neville somewhere. But he had no such luck.  
So again he had spent a sleepless night, walking up and down in the apartment, finally falling asleep on the couch, because he couldn’t stand to sleep in the bed, while Neville’s side was empty.

He showered at home, watching the hot water washing away the mud from his body, but not the exhaustion and the fear. Everything in the apartment reminded him of Neville and he asked himself, if he had to move out in case Neville decided to break up with him. He couldn’t imagine to live here alone again.  
But to break up with him, Neville would have to talk to him, and as long as he didn’t, nothing was certain. 

It still was early in the day and Oliver had no idea what to do with himself. Normally he would have been not home before seven, now it was four pm in the afternoon. Neville would also be at work.  
Oliver shoot up from his lying position on the couch. Why hadn’t he thought of that sooner? Of course Neville would be at work, at least he hoped he would be.  
He raced back into the bedroom to properly dress himself, then into the bathroom to make himself presentable.

His nerves were raw, when he rode the elevator down to the lobby. He never had been to Neville’s work place and so he could just apperate were he thought it would be.  
But when he landed in a hilly landscape, with large greenhouses in front of him, he knew he was at the right place. Although he had no clue in witch one Neville would work. 

Carefully he peered through the large windows of the one just in front of him. He saw young witches and wizards work on large, shared tables, but he couldn’t make out through the milky glass, if one of them was Neville.  
Apparently a girl had noticed him, a young, tall witch with curly brown hair. She pointed to him and several others were turning around to see what she was pointing at.  
Before he could cause a stir, he opened the door and slipped inside.  
The humid air and the strong earthy smell knocked the air out of his lungs for a second. The girl was quickly walking towards him.  
He tried to muster his most charming smile and greeted her.  
“What are you doing here?” she asked very unimpressed, “These greenhouses are not open to the public.”  
“I know, I was just looking for someone. Maybe you can help me.” Again he smiled at her apologetically. “Neville Longbottom? He works here somewhere.” He explained.  
The girl nodded and her frown disappeared. “Sure.” Then she turned around and called out loud: “Does anybody know, where Neville works today?”  
“I think in G7.” Another Girl came over, she had her blond hair chopped short, what accentuated her snub nose and sparkling blue eyes.  
“I’m Carlie,” she introduced herself and held out her hand, but quickly drew it back, when she noticed it was caked with earth.  
She laughed. “And you must be Oliver?” she asked curiously.  
Oliver nodded and smiled at her, that she obviously had heard about him gave his heart a little hopeful twinge.  
“It’s ok Anne,” she said to the other Girl, “I show him the way.”

They made small talk on their way over to Greenhouse 7 and Oliver was startled when Carlie suddenly gapped his arm and looked up to him with a very serious expression.  
“I don’t know what’s wrong, he wont talk to me. But he loves you very much... the way he talks about you… Please help him to get better.” She said before turning around and slipping into the Greenhouse next to them.  
“I'll try.” Oliver said quietly.

“Neville!” Carlie’s cheerful face appeared in front of him and Neville looked up into her eyes. "What?"  
“Someone wants to speak to you, outside.” She said, her beaming smile reviling her excitement.  
Neville wiped his hands on his workrobe. “Who is it?” he asked confused.  
And when Carlie said “Surprise”, he had a pretty good idea who it would be.  
Angrily, he stomped past her and tore open the glass door. Of course it was Oliver, standing there, nervously playing with his hands.  
They starred at each other for several seconds, before Neville closed the distance between them.  
“What are you doing here?” he asked, angry that he sounded not as aggressive as he wanted to.  
“I needed to see you Nev. I needed to know that you are ok.” Oliver said, his voice sounded choked.  
“Now you’ve seen me. I’m fine. You can go.” Neville said harshly.  
Oliver held his hands out, in a gesture of surrender. “Please Neville. I’m so sorry about what I did. Please let us talk about it.”  
Neville said nothing, only starred at him.  
“Please, give me a chance to apologize, to make things right.” Oliver pleaded.  
“It was my fault too.” Neville said suddenly. “But I can’t talk about this now, I have to go back at work.”  
“Where are you staying?” Oliver asked and when Neville hesitated to answer, “I just need to know that you are safe.”  
Neville couldn’t help but smile softly at that. “I’m with Harry and Ginny right now. But I’m looking for a place to stay for some time.”  
Oliver’s hopeful face fell, “why don’t you come home?” he asked and his pleading tone tugged at Neville’s heartstrings.  
“I can’t Ollie, I need time to think. There are a lot of things I need to think about.”  
“What does that mean for us?” Oliver asked anxiously.  
Neville sighed. “I don’t know, I’ll write you. Alright?” he asked. “But now I have to go back to work, Ollie."  
Oliver nodded and gingerly took Neville’s hand in his. “I love you Neville.” He said gently.  
“I love you, too.” Neville whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please, please leave comments!!


	19. Can I kiss you?

They started to write letters to each other and sometimes it felt like they were still getting to know each other, like in the beginning of their relationship.  
Oliver was surprised, when Neville asked him to ask the owner of the beach house, where they had spent the days after Christmas, if he could rent it for some time.  
Oliver was torn about the idea of Neville living there. He took it as a good sign that Neville wanted to spent time at the place, they had so happy memories of, but he didn’t like the perception that he would live on his own. And of course he was disappointed that Neville still wouldn’t come home. It was nearly four weeks now.  
But in the end he arranged everything and a few days later, Neville moved in.  
He was glad to be on his own again, as much as he was thankful for Ginny’s and Harry’s hospitality, he needed to get out of there. He couldn’t stand Ginny fussing over him, watching him like a hawk and Harry’s awkward, halfhearted attempts of trying to talk to him were leaving him restless, always tensed. But the worst thing were the silent glances Ginny and Harry were sharing, every time he sat down with them.  
He hated the way he felt around them, they were walking on eggshells and it made him aggressive.  
He hated himself for thinking like that, for being ungrateful and he hated himself for what he had become.  
The main part of his personality used to be kindness and naivety, but he somehow had lost this naivety along the way, as it had made him an easy target for curler people. But it hurt him to discover that he seemed to have lost his kindness too.  
Most thoughts he had, were bitter ones. He had experienced this once, but pulled himself out of it, so why couldn’t he do it again?  
He had been too dependent on Oliver, expecting him to pick him up. But Oliver could only do so much, and now it was time, to be his own saviour. That’s was why he was so hesitant to return into the safe habour of his home. Because he had allowed it to become unsafe, he had overstepped the boundaries. Maybe he had done it, to see how far he could take it, before Oliver gave up on him. He didn’t know for sure, if he intentionally was sabotaging himself and his relationship, but at least the thought was not new. 

He shook this dire thought from his head and started to unpack. The little house was just how he remembered it and the faint sound of the waves had a calming affect on him. After he had unpacked the few cloths he had with him, he treated himself to a cup of tea. He took his tea and a blanked outside, he sat down at the little bench, that was strategically placed on the wind-protected site of the house and slowly sipped his tea, while staring down at the sea. This was the perfect place to think. 

The week of the finals arrived ten days after he had moved in the little beach house, and it went surprisingly well. He made a point of getting up early, so he could take a walk on the beach before he had to go. Nothing calmed his nerves more than watching the indifferent force of the waves attacking and releasing the land again.  
He still couldn’t bring himself to eat something in the morning, but he started to pack himself lunch. Sometimes he would eat it, sometimes not. Little steps, right?

He had a good feeling about all his exams and it helped him to make healthy decisions. After his last exam, he was standing around with his colleagues chatting in there after exam excited rush. They were looking forward to two weeks off. The spring sun was warming the earth and the first flowers and trees had started to blossom. Neville felt like a weight had lifted from his chest.  
The first day off, he tried to sleep in, but was woken up naturally by the bright light that flooded into the white bedroom at 8am. He loved everything about this room, even the slightly kitschy lamps, filled with shells, you only find at stores by the sea.  
He took his time getting up and out of the bed, because the rest of the house was cold in the mornings. He made himself tea and porridge, with lots of cinnamon. After that he sat down, to write his boyfriend. Oliver had send him letters everyday, wishing him good luck for his exams.  
He asked him, if he would come by for dinner Friday evening, finally feeling strong enough to talk and to offer some solutions.  
Then he went for a walk on the beach.  
When he came back an hour later, Oliver’s favourite owl sat on the windowsill, waiting for him. The poor creature was so windswept, that Neville had to help, straighten his feathers out again. It brought the warm, enthusiastic agreement to dinner on Friday, and Neville pinned the piece of parchment to the kitchen wall, smiling at the little images of his plants, Oliver drew under the bottom line. 

Neville nervously looked around the kitchen again, somehow this felt like a first date, but maybe not so hopeful. He had bought Fish, Salad and Bread for dinner, and white wine of course. The fish was still raw; he would leave it to Oliver to prepare it. He knew it was a bit unconventional, to let the guest cook the food, but he knew it would be much better if Oliver made it. 

Just a minute after seven, the fire in the fireplace glowed green, and Oliver stepped out of it, shaking the ash off of his cloths. Neville leaned on the doorframe and watched as Oliver took tow large steps into his direction.  
“Hey Baby,” he said and his voice sent a shiver down Neville’s spine, “I missed you.”  
They stood in front of each other, somehow a little bit awkward, and smiled cautiously at one another.  
Oliver held his hand out, holding a little pot with pink daisy’s in it.  
“I thought you’d like them.” He said and blushed.  
Neville thought it was incredibly cute, how this bulky guy held the delicate flowers in his hand.  
“oh, I love them. Thank you.” He tentatively picked the pot out of Oliver’s hands and walked into the kitchen and sat them down at the windowsill of the window that faced the sea.  
Oliver had followed him and stood behind him, so close, that Neville could feel his body heat.  
He sounded a bit wistful when he said: “I’m taking good care of your plants, you know.”  
Neville turned around to look at him. “You do?” he asked, overwhelmed by tender feelings.  
Oliver took a step back and ran his hands through his dark, curly hair and nodded, he even talked to them sometimes, but he wouldn’t tell Neville that.  
“Uh hu.” He mumbled.  
“Well thank you.” Neville offered him a smile. 

“So what we are having for dinner?” Oliver changed the subject.  
“I bought some sea bass this morning, but I would leave it to you, to do anything with it, so we won’t die of food poisoning.” Neville said.  
Oliver’s deep laughter filled the small room.  
“That’s a strange dinner invitation, darling.” He teased, but immediately got to work.  
Neville sat down and watched Oliver prepare dinner, while they talked about random stuff. It got darker outside and soon Neville had to light the candles. He was glad about the relaxed atmosphere between them, the awkwardness the both felt alt the beginning was gone, an it was like nothing had happened, and as if they hadn’t been separated for over a month now. 

They were halfway through the meal, when Oliver put his cutlery down. “So you said, you were ready to talk?” he asked.  
Neville nearly choked on the piece of fish he had in his mouth. He coughed several times, before he could breath freely again.  
“I did…. Yes…eh.” he didn’t know what else to say.  
Oliver held up his hand, to interrupt him, “Let me just say, how very sorry I am, for how I treated you. It was wrong, and I want to apologize to you.” Oliver said seriously, looking Neville in the eyes.  
Neville looked down at his plate. “It’s alright.” He mumbled.  
“No, it’s not.” Oliver disagreed, “I scared you, I never indented to do that. Just…I didn’t know what to do, and you…” is voice was filled with emotion.  
“I know, I know and I’m sorry too.” Neville answered quietly, his eyes still downcast.  
The flickering light of the candles painted shadows from his long lashes on his cheeks. Spontaneously Oliver reached over the table to cup Neville’s cheek.  
“Something has to change, Nev. I love you so much, but I don’t think I can just watch you self-destruct.”  
“You don’t have too, I’ll be better. I promise.” Neville said sheepishly. “I have thought about it a lot, I know it went to far.”  
Oliver frowned, “But it’s not that easy, is it? It’s not going to disappear, just like that.”  
Neville shook his head, “No, it’s not, and it’s not easy either. Merlin knows I’m fighting. But I want to have back what we had before it got that bad and even with all that stuff that happened, I think it’s still there?” he didn’t want it to sound like a question, but it did. A pleading question and for the moment he felt as everything depended on Oliver’s answer.  
Relief flooded him when he saw that Oliver was smiling.  
“Don’t you listen to me?” he asked softly, “I told you that I love you. Of course it’s still there.” Oliver had hoped so long for this moment, for Neville to admit that something was wrong, that he would say that he wanted to get better. And he’s so excited about it, that for this moment he chose to forget all the wounds the past six months had left and all the trust that went missing between them, in this moment he just wanted to believe that everything just was going to be alright again.  
They finished dinner feeling like a newly enamoured couple, smiling and giggling softly to one another. After that they took their glasses with them and settled in front of the fireplace. 

“Do you have any concrete plans, to get healthy again?” Oliver asked carefully.  
Neville shrugged his shoulders, “I’ll just try to eat at least two times a day. That’s all.” He said dismissively.  
Oliver was unconvinced,” I don’t think that will be enough, you need something like a plan.” He hesitated before continued to speak, “I know, you don’t like healers, but I thought, we could maybe…. Talk to Susan?” he suggested.  
“Susan?” Neville echoed, “But she’s my friend.”  
“Yeah, I thought it would be easier to talk to her than to someone else.” Oliver said.  
“I don’t know.” Neville said deprecatingly.  
“Neville….” Oliver said pleadingly, he already started to doubt that Neville really was serious about trying to recover.  
Neville threw his hands up, “Alright, I’ll think about it. That’s enough for you?”  
Oliver decided not to dwell on the reproach he could detect in this words, it was a touchy subject after all.  
“Yeah, sure.” He stood up, “Maybe I should go now.” He put down his empty wineglass.  
Neville got up too. Awkwardly, they were staring at each other, not really knowing what to do.  
“Can I kiss you?” Oliver asked suddenly.  
“I guess. You didn't asked the first time." Neville answered.  
Oliver stepped closer and put his hands on Neville’s face, pulling him closer, then he pressed his warm lips on Neville’s mouth. What only should have been a small good night kiss, quickly turned into a heated, searching kiss.  
This attraction between them was something, that was definitively not lost. Soon they pressed their bodies together and explored them with their hands. It felt so right, so familiar. 

Neville ran his hands over the bulge, that was building quickly in Oliver’s pants and grinned as he opened them.  
“Already hard, my dear?” he teased him.  
Oliver playfully bit into his neck, “Just seeing you makes me hard.” He replied.  
“Well, that’s oddly romantic.” Neville said with a snort and with one shift motion he took Oliver’s pants and underwear down, then he got on his knees and smiled up to Oliver, who gasped in surprise.  
“Are you,” Oliver already breathed heavily, “are you sure you want to do this?”  
Instead of answering him, Neville licked over the tip of his cock, circling it with his tongue, before taking it into his mouth fully.  
Oliver moaned and his eyes were falling shut, gripping into Neville’s hair for some kind of grounding,  
Neville only had to move his head up and down a few times, before Oliver threw his head back and came with a quiet outcry.  
Neville wiped his mouth and got up from his knees, “That was fast,” he said with a smile.  
Oliver blushed a little, “uh, I’m sorry. It’s been a while.” He said embarrassed.  
“It’s alright. I’m sure I wont last long, either.”  
But when Oliver reached for his belt, to open it Neville shook his head.  
“Let’s take that to bed.” He suggested and led Oliver by his hand into the bedroom. 

The next morning, when he woke up, Oliver was already awake and looking at him.  
“Good morning Baby,” Oliver said and gave him a good morning kiss on his forehead.  
Neville smiled. “Morning.”  
“Didn’t expect to wake up next to you.” Oliver said, looking at Neville. “Are you okay with that?”  
Neville thought about it for a second, but this didn’t feel like a mistake, it just felt right and he could feel real happiness rushing through him.  
“I’m more than okay with that.” He said, suppressing a small yawn.  
They lay still for quite sometime, limps entangled.  
“Why don’t you spent the next tow weeks here with me?” Neville asked, “then we see what happens, and we’ll take it from there.” He suggested.  
“Everything you want, darling.” Oliver agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter left, please take a bit of your time and let me know what you are thinking about this.  
> Did you like it, is it too boring somehow? 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	20. I'm your man

Neville buttoned his dress shirt with shaking fingers. Oliver watched him fumble helplessly with the small buttons.  
“come here, I’ll do it.” He said and closed the last buttons, “Why are you so nervous?” he asked. “They are your oldest friends, not even two months ago, you were even living with them.” He pointed out.  
Neville shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t know. It’s just, at this time I didn’t care, I had my head stuck up my arse, and I couldn’t care less what they were thinking.” He tries to explain.  
“And now?” Oliver asked.  
“Now? I’m feeling so damn vulnerable and weak.”  
Oliver wrapped his arms around him. “You are not weak. I’m so proud of you for trying so hard.” He whispered in his ear.  
“Do you want me to cancel?” he asked him seriously, but Neville shook his head.  
“It would be rude to cancel, one hour before, wouldn’t it?”  
“Yeah, a bit.” Oliver agreed. “Don’t worry, I got you.” He said and Neville smiled a little nervous smile, that made Oliver think, that it was all worth it. All the good days they spent together and all the bad days too. 

Oliver squeezed his hand reassuringly under the table, when Ginny announced that she made shepherds pie, because: “it seemed the only thing you really liked when you stayed here,” she said to Neville, who looked down on his plate, ashamed, because it was more like the only time he overate when he was with them, secretly throwing up after dinner.  
Comfort food like this, always was his weak spot. It all started out with eating too much and ended with eating not enough.  
And now he was afraid, of his friends finding out, although he was pretty sure, that they already knew something was not quite right with him.  
And as Oliver still was holding his hand under the table, Neville asked himself, if it would really be this horrible, letting his friends know, that he was struggling?  
For a while everything went fine, they were talking and laughing, Neville ate slowly, but not too slow, just right, he could see it at Oliver encouraging little nods, whenever he looked at him. But then they were finished, Ginny brought the pudding and asked, if anybody wanted more wine, Neville looked to Oliver for confirmation, who shook his head. Neville turned back to Ginny with a “No, thank you” but his light smile fell from his lips, when he looked into her stormy eyes. She grapped his glass and refilled it anyway, looking at Oliver with a challenging expression. The atmosphere was suddenly so tense, that Neville’s stomach twisted uncomfortable. Harry only looked confused.  
Neville could feel Oliver’s hand on his neck, slightly pulling at his hair, to keep him grounded.  
He leaned close, “Are you alright?” he asked quietly and Neville shook his head.  
“I want to go home.” He whispered, feeling overwhelmed.  
“Sure babe,” Oliver said calmly and louder he announced, “I think we should go home. Neville’s not feeling good, he probably comes down with a cold or something.”  
Ginny glared at him, before she turned to Neville.  
“Do you want to go? Or are you just saying what he,” she points at Oliver, “wants you to say?” she asked angrily.  
Oliver leaned back into his chair, letting the accusation roll off of him, while Neville could feel himself tensing up.  
This was not fair.  
Harry mumbled “Ginny, please.” But she furiously shook her head, her red hair flying around her face.  
“No Harry, since they sat down at the table, Oliver was controlling him. Don’t you see that?” she was upset.  
“Neville even asked for permission to drink something. He keeps him from us.” She accused.  
Neville opened and closed his mouth again, not even sure what he wanted to say to her. Only that she’s unfair to Oliver.  
“He’s way to possessive. Look at how he touches him.” She said to Harry. And suddenly her eyes narrowed and she casted a scrutinizing look over Neville.  
“Does he hit you?” she asked sharply.  
Neville could feel Oliver’s fingers of the hand that still rested on his nape, dig into his flesh for a second, but other than that Oliver didn’t move, didn’t say anything. Harry, too, looked at Neville, waiting for an answer.  
Neville blanched. He shook his head. “How dare you to ask that?” he snapped at Ginny.  
“Neville, I…” she said, but he interrupted her.  
“No, you’ll listen to me.” He said coldly. “When I came to you last month, I lied to you. I lied to you all the time. We didn’t fight because I was studying so much and hadn’t enough time, we were fighting because of my eating habits.” He paused to look at them, avoiding Oliver’s gaze, then he continued,  
“I have an eating disorder since I was 16, on and off, for like five years now.”  
Harry and Ginny both looked at him with wide eyes.  
“Six months ago, it got bad again, I don’t know how and I don’t know why, it just happened… and Oliver helped me, he has been nothing but patient with me.” His voice cracked with the thought of what he had put him through.  
“He told me to eat, he told me to sleep and looked out for me.” He glared at Ginny, “What you call controlling; I need it. I need him to tell me what to do, that I’m worth it, that I deserve to be happy. He’s the only person I can rely on and he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me, never.” He could feel the tears prickling behind his eyes. Silence was filling the room, before Harry reached out for Neville.  
“Why didn’t you tell us? We could have been there for you.” He sounded sad and Neville could see that Ginny cried silent tears.  
“You had enough on your plate, Harry. Besides, I never believed I deserved someone to care about me, before we got together.”  
Oliver’s hand released his neck in favour of holding his hand.  
“I’m sorry,” Ginny apologized to Oliver, when she had calmed down a bit. “If I had known…” she didn’t finish the sentence.  
Oliver gives her a tight lipped smile, “It’s alright.”  
“And now?” Harry asked, “Are you better now?”  
That was a hard question to answer.  
“I’m trying” Neville said, “I have a diet-plan and we structured every day precisely, it’s easier for me, if I can follow a plan. A friend of ours is a healer, she helped us a lot.” He explained. 

Later, when they laid in bed together, Neville leaned against Oliver’s chest.  
“I’m sorry that I made you out to be the bad guy.” He apologized again.  
Oliver kissed his temple, “Don’t worry about it anymore,” he said softly, “For you, I will always be the bad guy. What ever you need, I’m your man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end, my only friend the end.  
> I would love, if you would leave a comment, even if this story is finished. I will read and answer every comment and appreciate every kudos... for my older works too. And I'm so addicted to this side, that I visit it at least once a day, but probably more often...  
> Also, there's the next idea for a fanfic looming in my head, so if you liked this one, stick around, there's more to come.
> 
> Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed!


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